


Parallels

by nuclearscreen



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I dont know how to tag, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Parallels, Sad, So much angst, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11632125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearscreen/pseuds/nuclearscreen
Summary: "Do you believe in fate?"It doesn't matter if you do or not.The real question is, will fate be kind?Edward takes fate in his own hands and refuses to shoot Oswald at the docks. Fate, however, is not something that can be controlled or changed.//Basically what would happen if Ed hadn't shot Oswald, everything plays out as a parallel.This story is full of angst and hurting, so if you want your heart to break then come in.





	1. What it means

 

Edward could hear his heart pounding in his ears, feel his blood rushing through his veins. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and kept his gun pointed at Oswald who was limping in front of him. Neither men said a word as they walked, the distant sounds of city life and seagulls flying overhead filling the silence for them.

  
Once they reached the end of the docks Oswald peered over the edge, heartbeat quickening as he stared past his reflection and into the dark nothingness the water promised him. Bound arms shook from the combination of fear coursing through his body and the chill that nipped at the air. He spun around and stared up at Ed. He felt his mouth drop open as he searched for the words that needed to be said. Edward clenched his jaw as he stared back at him with unreadable eyes and a tight grip on his gun.

  
"Ed..." Oswald struggled to keep his voice strong, drawing in quick breathes as raw emotions coursed through him. "I love you." He paused, searching Ed's face for a response. "I know you believe that now. So you need to listen to me when I tell you by doing this it will change you."

  
Edward kept his face closed and his voice rough. "I've killed before, Oswald."

  
"Not like this." Oswald's voice came out stronger as he gained confidence in his words. "This won't be a crime of passion or self-preservation. This will be the cold-blooded murder of someone you love." Emotions clenched his heart, causing his voice to break off and eyes swell with tears.

  
Edward stared deep into Oswald's eyes but kept his face unreadable.

  
"I don't love you." Ed spit every word out like it was venom, trying to verbally kick Oswald while he was down. He watched as the pain passed through Oswald's face, and he swore he could almost hear the other man's heart cracking.

  
The broken man could do nothing in response but reach out for the man he loved, his ex-best friend, gasping out a sob as his hands were smacked away. He could feel his body shake and heart crumble. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of how the pain coursing through his heart was worse than any beating his body had ever suffered. He would willing choose to relive the moments of Fish Mooney breaking his leg over again than endure another minute of Edward doing the same to his heart. With these thoughts in mind Oswald's eyes snapped back open and he swallowed his pain.

  
Readjusting his grip on the gun, Edward looked away from Oswald and drew in a sharp breath. He pushed away any thoughts and feelings of doubt he was having, shoved them to the deepest corners of his mind. He knew he needed to keep his mind clear and focus on his goal. Oswald had to pay for what he had done. Ed couldn't afford to hesitate or rethink this through. This _had_ to happen, for Isabella.

  
"You need me, Edward Nygma. Just as I need you. You cannot have one without the other." His words came out fast, almost rushed. They snapped Ed out of his head.

  
Doubt gnawed at Ed's conscious, fear gripped his mind and told him Oswald was right. He avoided Oswald's gaze and re-gripped his gun again. He was quickly losing his concentration and he knew he needed it back fast before he lost all confidence in this plan. He took in a shaky breath before speaking.

  
"You killed Isabella." As he said the words aloud, he was unsure if he was reminding Oswald or himself why they were there.

  
"The point is--"

  
" That is the point!" Edward clenched his eyes as he shouted the words. He could feel his anger and remorse claw their way up his throat. He glared back down at Oswald, trying to regain control of the situation.

"You can't talk your way out of this, Oswald."

  
_You can't undo what you've done._

  
"I have wanted you to suffer as I've suffered."

  
_You have caused me to suffer. You betrayed me, you broke my heart._

  
"You killed her, so you die."

  
_You were my best friend, and you hurt me._

  
_What am I suppose to do?_

  
_Why would you do this to me?_

  
He spat the words out at Oswald's feet, trying to mask his pain with anger, clenching his teeth together when he felt his voice break off at the end.

  
He stared down at Oswald, no longer able to hide the look of hurt in his eyes.

  
How did Oswald not understand? His actions _had_ to have consequences. Oswald had carelessly ripped away Ed's happiness for his own benefit. He smothered Ed's hope and planted a permanent heartache in his chest. He had been Edward's best friend, and he betrayed him in the worst way. He tried to manipulate and use Ed when he needed him most. Oswald had been irreparably selfish and tried to justify it with love.

  
How could Oswald claim to love him when his heart was so cold?

  
Oswald felt fear clench at his heart as Ed's words sunk in. As Edward's voice rose, anger punctuating every word, this situation edged closer and closer to Oswald's possible demise. He needed to contain this. He needed Ed to listen to him and believe this was the wrong thing to do.

  
"When I met you you were a nervous, jittery loser. You were nothing! I created Edward Nygma! And I am the only one in the world who truly sees you as you are." Oswald practically snarled the words out, summoning a false sense of spite to hide how utterly powerless he truly was. However, this facade was gone as soon as it had appeared as Oswald steadily felt himself collapse under the weight of Ed's eyes. He could do nothing but fall apart and watch as Ed held his life in his hands.

  
"Who you can still become." His next words were laced with hope and sorrow. He stared desperately at Ed, silently pleading for a future with him.

  
With each word Oswald spoke, doubt nagged at the back of Edward's mind until it shoved it's way up front. Oswald had been the only person in his entire life who had ever believed in him. He was the only one who saw potential in Ed and helped him grow. Oswald, who had took him under his wing and cared for him like no one ever had. The man who had freed him from Arkham and showered him with endless kindness and affection. How was Ed suppose to go on without him? Without Oswald?

  
Oswald.

  
Oh, Oswald.

  
The man who killed his beloved Isabella.

  
Resentment gripped Ed's vision, but uncertainty only held him tighter.

  
Oswald was right -- murdering him would change Ed, just as Kristen's death had.

  
But for better or for worse? Kristen's death had changed him for the better.....hadn't it? Her death was his transformation, it had made him stronger and whole, it was his metamorphosis.

  
Or did he just lose the battle and become the monster he promised her he wasn't?  
Edward suddenly felt acutely aware of the fact that he was responsible for Kristen's death. He murdered the woman he loved, just as Oswald had. How was he any different than him?

  
_It was an accident_. His mind rushed to justify his actions, refusing to believe he could be compared to the man standing right in front of him.

  
_'Beautiful'_ he heard the other half of his mind whisper, reminding him exactly how alive he felt when he had gotten away with it.

  
_'You are a psychopath!'_ Kristen's voice shrieked in his head, clear as the day she said them.

  
_That's not true that's not true that'snottruethat'snottruethat'snot_

  
_Then why do you have a gun pointed at your best friend!_

  
Edward's mind felt like it was pounding and bursting with memories. Forgotten words were screaming inside him as he tightened his grip on his gun. He re-aimed it at Oswald's chest even as he couldn't find the confidence to meet the others gaze.

  
_He killed Isabella,_ he repeated it in his mind like a mantra, attempting to remind himself why he was here.

  
"You can't do this." Oswald's voice was tight as he choked back a sob. The fight was leaving his body and all that was left was the desire to curl up and cry. He felt broken in every way possible.

  
Ed flicked his eyes back to Oswald's, feeling his resolution break apart when they meet.

  
_He killed Isabella,_ his thoughts growl at him.

  
_And I killed Kristen._

  
_'For some men, love is a source of strength. But for you and I it will always be our most crippling weakness.'_

  
Ed's past holds him tight, reminding him of a dreadful truth.

  
_'We are better off unencumbered.'_

  
He stares at Oswald, then back down at his gun. He never could have lived a happy life with Isabella, deep down he always knew that. Why is he doing this?

  
_'Your mother is dead because of your weakness.'_

  
_Everyone I have ever loved is dead because of me._

  
_'But what you need to realize is that your weakness was her.'_

  
_There is no room in either of our lives for love. There never had been, we had only deluded ourselves into thinking we could reach such a thing._

  
"Ed are you listening to me!?" Oswald's words snap at Ed, the anticipation eating him alive.

  
_'A man with nothing he loves.....is a man that cannot be bargained, a man that cannot be betrayed, a man that answers to no one but himself. And that is the man I see before me. A free man.'_

  
Ed stares back up, eyes boring into Oswald's. The man standing before him is no longer a free man, but a man who is crushed by the weight of love and heartbreak and betrayal.

  
Ed almost feels like he's looking at a reflection of himself.

  
"I'm listening." He almost whispers the words.

  
A heartbeat passes between the two, a slight breeze sends both of them shivering, and both men suck in a breath, neither men knowing what's coming next.

  
"I'm so sorry." Oswald's voice is low and soft.

  
_Sorry._

  
_He doesn't mean it. He doesn't know the meaning of sorry. He only cares about himse--_

  
_'I wont call Ed. I wont let you hurt him!'_

  
A voice, Oswald's voice, a memory interrupts his thoughts.

  
_'I wont let you hurt him!'_

  
Despite everything Ed had put him through, Oswald still refused to endanger Ed.

  
_'Ed said love was about sacrifice.'_

  
He remembers the way his heart dropped when he heard Oswald speak these words.

  
_'I'm ready now.'_

  
Ed had wanted to prove that Oswald was incapable of loving another person....and he failed.

  
_'I wont let you hurt him! I wont let you hurt him!'_

  
Ed felt so deeply lost and felt paralyzed, pinned under Oswald's stare.

  
_'I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't let you hurt him.I wontletyou hurt himI'msosorrysorryImsosorryIwontletoyuhurthimImsosorryHurthimIwontletyouhurthimImsosorry'_

  
Oswald's words consumed Ed's thoughts, he felt as if he were suffocating.

  
_'I did it for love.'_

  
_'Ed, I love you.'_

  
He remembers the first time Kristen and Isabella spoke those same words to him, faces blurring together.

  
_'I did it for love. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.'_

  
Oswald's voice replayed like a mantra in his head.

  
_'So you'd rather die than give up the man who tried to kill you?'_

  
_'I would! Isn’t that crazy?'_

  
Everyone who had ever loved him was dead, and it was his fault. And here he stood, ready to kill another. Ready to kill the best friend he’s ever had.

  
_'I’m ready now. I wont let you hurt him! I love you. I did it for love. I love you. I did it for love, but I’m ready now. I won’t let you hurt him. I’m ready now. I’m ready now. Love is sacrifice. I’m ready now.'_

  
Words clashed together and pounded against Ed’s skull. His heart thrashed in his ribs.  
He tightened his grip on the gun, trying to make sense out of this mess, trying to think as voices overlapped voices.

  
He needed to kill Oswald. He _needed_ him to die, just as Isabella had. Just as Kristen had.

  
He felt his heart racing.

  
He urged himself to pull the trigger and get it over with. He had to do this.

  
But he couldn’t.

  
_'I wanted you to die knowing you were incapable of loving another person.'_

  
_'But I can. I just proved that. I'm ready now. I love you.'_

  
Memories ignited Edward _._

  
_'I don't know what it means.'_

  
_'I don’t know what it means.'_

  
_I don't know what it means._

  
With a broken cry of frustration, Ed threw his gun off the docks and into the lake, causing Oswald to flinch and whimper as the gun sailed passed him. Ed listened as the gun splashed into the water and visualized it sinking to an unreachable bottom. Once the reality of his actions hit him, Ed let out a gasp and stared agape at Oswald. The weight that rested on his shoulders had been lifted, but he felt a nagging at his heart. He shoved his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes and temple, desperately searching for a sliver of clarity or silence. Whether this feeling was guilt or regret he didn't know and for now he didn't care.

  
Tears immediately began to stream downed Oswald's cheeks, his breaths now coming in frantic and broken by sobs. Ed wasn't going to kill him, he was going to live and everything was going to be okay. His heart raced with joy and relief. A weak smile took over his damp face, and his breathless sobs slowly started to sound like laughter. Everything was going to be okay, everything was going to be okay.  
Then one look at Ed and it feels like the floor crumbles beneath him. Despite the comfort of knowing he's alive and going to stay that way, everything feels so deeply wrong and Ed's eyes clearly portray this. Oswald heaves out a loud sob, now crying without any restraint. He chokes on his sobs, hardly allowing himself to breathe as tears and mucus drip down his face. He reaches out for Edward again, clutching onto his jacket begging, needing something to happen next.

  
Ed listens to Oswald's cries and feels his own heart strain knowing he's the one that caused this. Hearing Oswald fall apart like this, Ed is tempted to believe that he has hurt and suffered just as he had. When he fells hands digging into his jacket a part of him demands he rip them off, but instead he lets Oswald hold onto him.

  
Sucking in a deep breath, Ed finally looks back up at Oswald and takes in the disaster he's become. Oswald is shaking severely, due to both the cold and the crying, his hair frayed and sticking out every way, his mouth open and quivering, bound arms straining against their restraints, snot, tears, and saliva make his entire face sloppily glisten. Ed opens his mouth to say something but finds himself only able to shake his head in response, words escaping him. Without thinking about it, his body takes a step back away from Oswald.

  
"Go home, Oswald." Finally he says something, albeit voice shaky and frail.

  
"Ed-" Oswald says, needing more, needing to know what will happen next, needing to know where Edward will be, what he's going to do and if he will be okay, but he's cut off by the man himself.

  
"Go!" Edward snaps at him, ignoring the way the other flinches as his words. "I just.....I want to be left alone. I need you to get away from me. Now." He rushes his last words out before turning away.

  
Oswald opens his mouth to speak, wanting to say so many things. He stares, wanting to comfort Ed and be the shoulder he cries on. But he knows it would be best if he left. He takes a deep breath, wipes his face on his shoulder and nods. He can only do more damage by sticking around. Besides, seeing Ed's face right now is only a painful reminder of all the heartbreak and backstabbing the other has caused him in the last few days. So he steps past Ed, his heavy crushed heart stabbing him in time with the sharp throb in his leg as he walks away.

  
As Oswald limps past him, Ed feels himself let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Once he feels truly alone, Ed sinks to his knees, his tired body crumbling under his own weight. Fatigue holds him down, but he still feels like he needs to do something to release everything inside him. Needs to scream it out maybe, or hit the concrete until his knuckles are stained crimson, or cry until his body gives up. Instead he does nothing but sit and stare and breathes. He knows there's nothing he could do that would make any of this any better.

  
Eventually he brings himself to his knees and removes his coat. Moments later he watches as he tosses it into the lake. Slowly but surely it sinks, chasing after the gun Ed imagines. He welcomes the frigid air as it envelops his lively skin.

  
He stares at the horizon as previous conversations entangle themselves around his mind.

  
_I don't know what it means._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sorta inspired to write this because I noticed how Oswald never showed any remorse/regret for killing Isabella. Even when his life was on the line he never once apologized for what he had done, but he still expected Ed to forgive him anyway.  
> Right, so basically this is my first official fanfic. So any and all constructive criticism is appreciated since I'm still learning and trying to improve.  
> I hope things made sense in this chapter, I didn't have a beta reader to tell me whether or not the Ed's mind-dialogue thing was confusing or not.
> 
> Anyway I'm completely rambling, this is my first time doing this so I'm just a little much I know. On to the next chapter! (Thank you for reading <3)


	2. Rest In Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our injured bird goes home and gets some much needed rest.  
> Edward pays a certain someone a little visit to find some closure and get a few things off his chest.

After much stumbling, wandering, and skulking, Oswald finds himself home within the next 2 hours. Navigating around the city had been difficult with bound hands, but he received a stroke of luck when he stumbled in an alleyway coated with broken glass. Granted he cut his palm due to his anxious haste, but he was freed and that was all that really mattered.

  
Now that he was home there was only one thing on his mind.

  
_Rest._

  
Of course, he was still worried about Ed and wondering where he could be, but it was so very hard to be worried when his body was giving up on him. The full effects of these past few days were earnestly dragging him down. He hadn't been eating or sleeping properly ever since his "father" started showing up. Ed had caused him enough psychological trauma within the past 24 hours to send a sane person on a murder spree. And to top it off, the walk home was more than exhausting on his entire body, especially his leg due to the lack of cane. All Oswald truly desired in this one moment was to lay down and allow his mind and body to fully rest. 

  
And so he did.

  
Hobbling into his house he immediately discarded his damp jacket, ripping it off and tossing it somewhere on the floor. Eyes failing and unable to concentrate on his surroundings, he relied on memory to guide him to the living room.

  
The moment he saw the couch was the exact moment he threw himself on it. Weakly he kicked his shoes off and curled in on himself. He wanted to change into fresh, dry pajamas and sleep in his bed knowing it would be so much better for his back and leg, but he was already teetering on the edge of exhaustion. At this point the floor looked like an adequate place for a nap. He had no energy to drag himself all the way to his room, which sounded like miles away.

  
As he relaxed on the couch and felt his mind slipped away, Os unconsciously noticed Ed's desk standing across from him. His eyes drooped closed and one thought passed through his mind before he was out.

  
_Ed._

  
\---------------------------------------------

Edward pulled up to the edge of the woods and hesitantly turned the key, shutting his engine off. He had sat at the docks for an unknown length of time until he finally decided to come here. There was so much cluttering his mind and this was the only place he thought he could find some clarity.

  
He took a shaky breathe then forced himself to swing the car door open and step back out into the chilly morning air. He shoved a hand in his right coat pocket, fiddling with a small, metallic object as he walked. Despite the lack of a path or any markers Ed knew exactly where he was going. Carefully he stepped around the growing weeds, flowers, and trees, making his way towards his destination. And after much treading, he finally reached it. Hidden deep within the forest, a plain patch of Earth with noticeably less plant life living off it.

  
Kristen's Grave.

  
For a moment Ed just stood and stared down at the soil. Thoughts quietly rushed through his head but he paid attention to none of them. After a few more moments of silence, Ed slowly knelt next to the grave and opened his mouth to speak.

  
"Kristen,......" he spoke out in a shaky breathe that was hardly audible to his own ears. His mouth stayed open and he waited for his next words to flow out, finding himself frustrated when he was met with nothing.

  
Suddenly this began to feel like a mistake. Why was he even here? Being with Kristen could only cause him more heart ache, he knew this. What was the point of this?

  
He went to stand but stopped when his right hand grazed against the cold, small object stored away in his pocket.

  
Right. He was here to clear his chest and find clarity in this chaos that was his life.

  
He took a deep breath.

  
"Kristen, I miss you." The confession left him in a clear voice.

  
"You were such an important part of my life for so very long and now you're gone. Yet somehow, I still go on. Despite how much you meant to me and how much I loved you, I'm still living my life. In fact, I even fell in love again. With a woman who looked.....uncannily like you."

  
His words were met with silence and he was content with that. He clutched at the object in his pocket and continued.

  
"Her name was Isabella. She was intelligent, charming, gentle, beautiful, and so much more. I only knew her for a few days before she was ripped away from me, but she became my everything. She finished my riddles and laughed at my jokes. We enjoyed the same books and shared the same taste in coffee. She knew about my past but she still loved and accepted me. She helped me silence my demons and doubts. She made me happy and made me believe in love again. She was perfect for me. But now she's gone."

  
Edward's voice broke off on his last words. He sniffled and swallowed back a sob.

  
"I......I don't know how....."

  
Ed cut himself off with a sharp breath, emotions enveloping him again.

  
"It's not just Isabella that's weighing at my heart." he confessed. "It's my best friend's fault she's gone. He..he ripped her away from me. He killed her. He selfishly smothered my happiness and claimed it was for love."

  
His voice came out heated now and he clenched his fists.

  
"I just...I don't know how....I don't know....."

  
Ed had never felt as alone as he did now. His breathes came in frantic and he looked around him, as if searching for answers. Hot tears began to stream down his face and blurred his vision.

  
"I don't know if I'm going to be able to trust another person again. I don't know how I'm ever going to open up again. I don't know if I can ever let anyone else in. I don't know if people are worth this kind of pain. I just don't know. I don't know."

  
He stopped speaking, needing a moment to breath. He brought a gloved hand up to his face, pushing his glasses out of the way so he could wipe at his tears. His other hand stayed in his pocket, fingers running across the object. After a few seconds he caught his breathe and composed himself.

  
"Honestly, this is about Oswald. I loved Isabella with all my heart and I miss her deeply, but I also loved you once. I can so clearly remember how crushed I was after your death, but look at how far I've come since then. I'm on my way to reaching my full potential and becoming the person I always knew I could be. "

  
Furrowing his eyebrows, Ed ran his tongue over his lips and carefully thought over his next words.

  
"Isabella was.....Deep down, I know that things never could have lasted between us. Not with you in my past. Even if the fear of hurting her was erased completely, our entire relationship would have felt like a teasing imitation of the one I once desired with you. Besides, the path Oswald is leading me down is not one suited for a normal family life. And I'm not sure if I would have been willing to give this position up for that."

  
_'And like the butterfly, I’ve come to realize that I cannot be a caterpillar once again.'_

  
A long ago confession whispered in the back of his mind. Ed felt a weight lift off his chest, finally acknowledging a truth he had refused to see before.

  
"My real problem is Oswald....I thought killing him and erasing him from my life entirely would make everything better but I can’t....I couldn’t kill him. I just couldn’t. I need him. I wish I didn’t but I know I do. Oswald is the only one. He’s the only one that’s ever believed in me. He’s the only one that see’s my potential and who I can truly become. I need him to reach that point. I know who I am, but I need his help to become that. And.....”

  
Ed ran a hand over his face, speaking slower as thought over his words, finally reaching the clarity he came here for.

  
“Oswald is the best friend I’ve ever had. I care for him. He’s the only person I have left in this world and I-I don’t know how I would go on without him. We’ve been through so much together. He’s done so much for me. Without him, I never would have gotten anywhere. I would still be stuck in Arkham with those lunatics -- or worse, a nerdy nobody working at the GCPD, surrounded with boring justice freaks. I don’t think I’ll ever find it in myself to forgive Oswald for what he’s done, but I want to move past it.”

  
Edward let out a deep breathe, finally feeling a sense of calm wash over him. The pain of betrayal and heartbreak still lingered, but now he at least felt like he had a string of hope. He didn’t feel as helpless and lost anymore.

  
Removing the object from his jacket pocket, Ed looked down at Isabella’s glasses. He pressed a gentle kiss to the frames then set them down on the grave.

  
“Thank you for listening, Kristen.”

  
Steadily Ed stood back up. He was done here but he didn’t quite feel ready to leave yet. He attentively looked around his surroundings and allowed a memory to guide his mind. With a clear mind, he let himself follow this memory.

  
Getting a little lost on the way, Ed eventually found himself in front of the old trailer that had housed an injured Penguin. Cautiously Ed peered in the windows to see if anyone lived here, but the place was clearly emptied. He wondered to himself if Oswald had murdered the previous owners. He felt a small smile creep up his face at the thought.

  
Twisting the door handle and thanking his lucky stars it wasn’t locked, Ed stepped in the abandoned property. He strolled his way to the living room, taking in every detail as he went. As he eyed the couch he suddenly felt a weariness weigh on him. The past 24 hours had taken a lot out of Ed, more than he’d like to admit. Hesitantly he found himself sitting on sofa, relaxing and allowing the fatigue to overtake him.

  
As he closed his eyes he imagined Oswald bleeding out and dying alone on this very same sofa. And with that, his last thought crossed his mind as he fell unconscious.

  
_Oswald._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a note to tell you I have no notes to give for this chapter.


	3. Where are you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald leaves home then finds himself in some trouble. 
> 
> Edward finds himself in trouble then returns home.

_"I loved her, Oswald" Vacant Pause. "And you killed her." A gunshot ringed in Oswald's ears, then pain flooded his entire body. It ate at him, fire starting in his stomach then spreading like wild through the rest of his body. His mouth dropped open, disbelief and heartache taking its toll on his heart. Ed silently stared back at Oswald as he roughly grabbed his wrinkled shirt. Then the next thing Oswald knows, he's falling, falling, falling, falling, then sinking down, down, down. He can do nothing but reach out for helplessly reach out for Ed, his true love, his best friend. The cold envelops him until he forgets the pain. Darkness floods all around him, he can no longer breathe, his heart is thrashing against his chest as it slows down. Fish ignore his sinking body and then sudde-_

  
Oswald jerks awake, dream interrupted by his hammering heart. Oswald slightly pants as he spins his head around, trying to remember where he is and how he got there. A quick look at his surroundings reminds him he's home, more specifically in his living room. He let's loose his clutch on the couch feeling a sense of relief.

  
And then he remembers how he got here and his heart drops.

  
_Ed._

  
“Ed?” Oswald hesitantly calls out. How long has he been asleep?

  
His questioned is answered by silence.

  
Oswald furrows his brows and sits up. Where could he be? This is his _home_ , there’s no where else for him to go.

  
Feeling worry sweep over him, Oswald sighs and leans back into the couch. He closes his eyes, wishing to fall back asleep but an ache of hunger in his stomach denies him this simple peace. His body sags against the couch and he knows this small task is going to take a lot of effort. Reopening his eyes, Oswald takes a moment to mentally prepare himself for this challenge.

  
He’s just about ready to stand up when his eyes fixate on the desk before him. _Ed’s desk._ There’s a pang in Oswald’s chest that leaves him slightly breathless. His mouth falls open as he stares at it and feels a sense of longing overwhelm him. Countless memories of Ed consumed with paperwork and various tasks at that very desk flood Oswald’s mind before he can redirect his attention. One memory in particular is louder than the others; him standing before Ed in front of this desk, morning light brightly shining in, heart pounding against his rib cage as he struggles to find the courage to confess his feelings. Oswald’s heart sinks further as he wonders how different things would be if he had just said those three _damned_ words right then and there. Would it have changed anything? If only he knew.

  
He remembers the soft way Ed smiled then, after Os admitted how lost he would be without the other. _God_  if only those words didn’t ring so true now.

  
_I don’t have time for this,_ he tells himself, shaking his head. Sitting here regretting the past is going to get him absolutely nowhere, he already knows this from past experience.

  
Rubbing his face, Oswald takes a deep breath before he finally hoists himself up. His legs protest underneath him and his muscles beg for him to sit back down, but the growls of his stomach silence their cries. He hobbles his way to the kitchen, frail limbs straining against this small effort. Once he enters he looks around and it occurs to him how odd it is that Olga nor none of his other staff is currently present. He considers calling out for them but decides against it, knowing it’s unlikely anyone is here.

  
He hastily opens the fridge, desperate to put something in his belly to alleviate this discomfort and fatigue. His hands greedily reach out and take the first thing he sees, a green apple. He sinks his teeth into it and practically moans at the taste. He can hardly remember food ever tasting this _good._ As he chews and swallows his apple Oswald pulls out the ingredients for a simple ham sandwich. Although his taste leans more in favor for the rich things in life right now Oswald isn’t feeling picky. He sets his apple on the counter for a moment, requiring both hands to lay out his items and make his sandwich. In the end he winds up making two, feeling like he could eat an entire thanksgiving feast in this state. When he’s finished making his snacks he shoves his apple back in his mouth and grabs both his sandwiches in one hand. He limps his way out of the kitchen and towards the dining room, leaving his mess behind for someone else to deal with.

  
Legs feeling like they’re ready to give out, Oswald plops himself into his seat at the head of the table, grateful for the break it gives his body. He sets his sandwiches on the table and returns his attention to his apple, a bite or two away from finishing it. He gives in to the simple joy he finds in this one apple and sighs contently when he’s done with it. The instant the apple is gone Oswald hastily picks up one of his sandwiches and wolfs down one corner of it.

  
As he sloppily consumes his food, Oswald’s eyes focus on the chair in front of him and he again remembers the infamous day he had tried to confess his feelings to Ed.

  
_'Shall we say dinner at the mansion? 8 o'clock?'_

  
The day Ed had missed their dinner date. The day he met Isabella.

  
With a huff Oswald shoves himself out of the chair and away from the table. _I cannot just sit here and let memories make a mess of me._ Frustration carries him as he storms off back into the kitchen.

  
When he returns to the dining room he throws himself back into his chair, this time a glass filled to the brim with wine accompanying him. He settles into his chair, and takes a greedy swig of his drink. His face holds a look of dejection as he swallows it down.

  
Maybe drinking his problems away isn't the best course of action, but it's not like there's much else he can do.

  
Now partially ignoring his food, he takes another drink.

0

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Are you dense or just not listening to me? For the twentieth time, no, _I did not kill Penguin_." Edward's words came out condescending and snappy, "Stop _yelling_ at me or I'm going to hang up." His patience for this phone call was already wearing thin.

  
He had woken only moments ago due to the loud ringing and buzzing of his phone. He now regrets answering it. His mind was still groggy and his body stiff -- he was in no mood to be dealing with idiots.

  
He groaned and rolled his head back, voice on the other end still yapping. "If you would _shut up_ and let me explain," He practically growled "I didn't let him get away. It wasn't an accident, I let him go." Immediately the other end began shouting at him. “I am _not_ a _child_ , Barbara! Nor am I a moron, so stop treating me like both or I _will_ hang up.” He cuts her off, yelling back.

  
“Fine, _Nygma_. Then explain yourself. If you’re not an idiot then _why_ would you do something so _stupid_?” Barbara’s voice was sharp and almost came out as a hiss. Ed could tell she was pissed.

  
“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He grumbled back.

  
“Do it anyway!” When Ed didn’t speak, she continued. “After all the work and trouble I went through to help you I think the least you could do is give me an explanation.”

  
Ed rubbed at his face, trying to massage his annoyance away and come up with an answer to give her. Although he hated to admit it, he knew she was right. “Because I-I couldn’t...I couldn’t pull the trigger, alright? I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  
He heard he huff on the other end. “Fine! No problem, I’ll just find someone else to do it for you.” Her voice was chipper yet still full of venom.

  
“No!” Ed bit his tongue, hating how quickly the his response rushed out. “No, don’t do that. There’s no need to hire anyone.”

  
“Oh what, still think you’re going to do it? I think you already proved you’re not capable of that. Looks like you’re not a cold blooded killer after all.” Ed could tell that she was smiling now. “You can choke out your innocent girlfriend but you can’t shoot your backstabbing best friend. Are we sure Penguin’s the one in love here?”

  
“ _Shut up!_ ” Ed clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. “I don’t _want_ him dead anymore. I realized he’s worth more to me alive than he is dead.”

  
“What are you talking about? We need him dead!” Barbara snapped at him.

  
“No, I need him alive!” Ed snapped back. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. We’re finished here.”

  
“We are not finished! Congratulations, you two kissed and made up! I still want him dead.” Barbara’s voice was bitter sweet, anger rising by the second. “ _I_ want my throne, Nygma! We had a plan! We made a deal!”

  
“Yeah? Well that’s too bad. Have a nice day.” Barbara begins to shout again but Ed silences her by snapping his phone shut.

  
He leans forward, elbows digging into his knees as he buries his face into his hands. He lets out a groan and rubs his face. He knew it wasn’t smart to piss off Barbara. There would definitely be consequences to come, but right now he didn’t care. He had bigger problems on his plate. Mainly one; _Oswald._

  
Ed didn’t exactly have a plan in mind when he let the little bird go free. What was he to do with him now? What was the point in keeping him alive? He knew he needed him, but what did that mean?

  
He pushed these thoughts aside and forced himself up. He could think about this later when his mind didn’t feel so muddled.

  
The shack was small enough it only took a couple of steps until he was in the kitchen. It was tiny, yet not in a cute homey way. Dishes and rotten food littered the place. It was clear no one had been here in quite some time. Grabbing a clean cup out of a cabinet, Ed hopes this place still had running water. To his luck, the faucet springs to life when he handles it, allowing him to fill his cup.

  
He leans against the counter and takes a small drink, weary of the quality of the water out here. The flavor is off, but it’s safe and Ed isn’t going to be picky. His throat is too dry for him to care, besides living in the city of Gotham builds ones tolerance for unpleasant tap water.

  
An unpleasant smell finds it’s way to Ed’s nose and he turns his attention to the dishes, trying to distinguish which plate it’s coming from. He takes notice of molded bread, spoiled milk, and rotten fruit before he finds the source; a plate of week old meat, maggots squirming in an out of it. The smell is pungent and the sight repulsing but Ed, being a man of science, is hardly affected by the encounter.

  
Ignoring the food, he takes another drink.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
An hour has passed since Oswald woke up and he’s already found the bottom of a bottle of wine. His unease not allowing him to continue eating or sleeping, he finds the next best thing is to drink his troubles away. He knows it’s not healthy, knows its not going to help his situation in anyway, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing a new bottle and refilling his glass.  
Where is Edward? It’s not exactly late but the sun is going to set soon. Where could he have gone? What could he possibly be doing? After letting Oswald go what could his next move be?  
Frankly, Oswald isn’t worried about what Ed plans on doing next. Edward had his chance to kill him and he threw it away. What would have been the point in doing that if he was only going to turn around and kill him anyway? Os mused over the possibility of this just being another set up, but he saw the way Ed acted. He saw how his bones shake, saw his sunken eyes, saw the raw emotion and display of _dread_ spread across his face, saw the way he struggled with his own inability to pull the trigger. Oswald _knows_ Ed. He knows what he saw wasn’t an act and that Ed is truly struggling with his emotions. In the end, Oswald is still his best friend, and that means something.

  
In all honesty, he’s not worried about where Ed is either. He could be at town hall setting up another bomb for all Oswald cares. His whereabouts don’t really matter. No, there’s only one thought that Oswald is agonizing over.

  
_What if he doesn’t come back?_

  
It would only make too much sense if Edward simply disappeared, never wanting to see Oswald or this town ever again. The thought grips Oswald’s mind and squeezes until he feels sick.

  
Draining the contents of his cup, he rips the glass away from his lips and hurls it at the wall. The sound of it shattering relieves Oswald of some of his distress, but not enough. He grabs the bottle sitting in front of him and tips it back, guzzling the bittersweet liquid. When he’s had enough he slams it back down on the table and sighs.

  
“I am _sick_ of this.” He says to his empty audience, abruptly standing up. “I am _not_ some damsel in distress and I will _not_ just sit around feeling hopeless.” He spits the words out, grabbing his bottle before he leaves the room. “I am a man of action. If Ed won’t come to me then I’ll simply go to him.” His thoughts swirl around in his head, the wine taking it’s affect.

  
He unsteadily makes his way back to the living room and heads to the phone. He picks it up and hastily dials Ed’s number. Desperately he listens as it rings. Once....Twice...........

  
When there’s no answer on the ninth ring he slams the earpiece onto the dial, taking his frustrations out on the machine. He takes a deep breath and tries again. Then again. And again. Eventually he gives up, hands dropping the corded phone in favor of grasping for the bottle and chugging more wine down. Sloppily wiping his mouth across the back of his hand, he racks his brain for new ideas.

  
Finally he picks the phone back up, new plan in mind. He dials a new number. It picks up on the third ring.

  
“Hello, boss?” A gruff voice answers.

  
“Gabe,” Os replies. “When was the last time you saw Ed?”

  
There’s a brief pause. “You mean that tall, lanky fella that follows you like a lost dog?” Oswald rolls his eyes at the lack of brains from the other man.

  
“Yes, him.” He hisses back.

  
“Dunno. Been a while. Not any time recently. Why, sumthin up?”

  
Oswald sighs in disappoint. “Yes. No. Not exactly. Just.” He stops trying to think of what to say next. “Nothing happened, I just need to speak with him. He seems to be avoiding me.” He considers ending the call now but decides to continue. “Keep an eye out for him. Send some men to search for him. Nothing too intense. Inform them there’s a reward for whoever brings him back to the mansion. _Unharmed_.”

  
“Alright, you got it boss. We’ll bring him back to ya soon enough.”

  
Although Gabe can’t see, Oswald nods then ends the call without another word. He then proceeds to dial another number. It answers upon the first ring.

  
“Mayor Cobblepot?” His secretary voice comes through.

  
“Yes, it’s me. I was n-” He’s cut off before he can finish.

  
“Oh thank heavens. We’ve all been so worried. Things have been a nightmare since you fled from your interview! _Where have you been?_ So much has happened. Mr. Stemmel was murdered, and on his birthday can you believe it? We _need_ you down here _immediately_.” The woman's voice comes out fast and urgent which only adds to Oswald’s building anxiety.

  
“Right, of course, yes.” He babbles out, too tipsy to deal with such responsibilities. “But firstly. Has anyone at the office spoken to Edward recently?”

  
“No, I wish we had heard from him, he would have kept things running smoothly while you were away. Everyone is MIA, all the-” Oswald interrupts before she can continue on with her spiel.

  
“Okay, I understand. Send a car down to the mansion and I will be there to fix things as soon as I can.”

  
“Right away Mr. Cobblepot.” She chirps back to him.

  
He mutters his goodbye and hangs up.

  
Oswald wobbles over to the couch and falls back into it. He settles against it and nurses his bottle.

  
Oswald’s life feels as if it is brimming with problems and hassles.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The weather hasn’t cheered up since this morning, Ed notes as he walks down the busy Gotham street. The clouds hang lower still, the promise of rain dragging them down.

  
Edward had returned to the inner city of Gotham shortly after his phone call with Barbara. He had several errands to run and time was of the essence. He still didn’t know where his relationship with Oswald stood but if he wanted the man to stick around long enough to figure that out then Ed had some strings that needed to be tied, and soon.

  
This time when Edward entered the GCPD he kept his head down and walked to the side. Causing a scene was the last thing he wanted right now. He needed to get what he came for without any conflict. Hastily he climbed the steps to the commissioners office and knocked on the open door frame.

  
Barnes stood by his desk, mid conversation with some nameless officer when Ed’s knocked interrupted them. The commissioners eyes narrowed as he identified the intruder, mood dropping instantly.

  
“Nygma,” He growled out. “You know you’re not welcomed here. Are you looking for trouble?”

  
“I’m here for nothing of the sort, Commissioner.” Ed swallowed the sarcastic responses that leapt to his mind, knowing that respect and polite formalities would help get him what he wanted. “I’m here under orders of Mayor Cobblepot. I need all the files on Tarquin Stemmel's murder.”

  
Stemmel, the man Edward had deluded and manipulated Oswald into killing. Ed needed to secure all information regarding his death before any of these officers linked it to Oswald, which wouldn’t take long.

  
“Oh, so you think you’re just going to walk in here and rip another case from one of my off-” Ed interjected Barne’s raising anger with a wave of his hand.

  
“I plan to do nothing of the sort, Commissioner. Chief Stemmel was an important man down at the office. He meant a lot to everyone there, especially to Oswald. Of course we trust your men are perfectly capable of bringing his killer to justice, we’d simply like to lend a hand.”

  
Barne’s took a step forward with a fixed glare. “You’re right, Nygma. My men _are_ perfectly capable of working this case without any help from the likes of you.” He took a moment to search Ed’s face. “Something smells fishy here.”

  
Ed silently sighed and dropped his gaze to Barne’s, voice dropping to match his. “Do I really need to remind you of how this went down last time? Or have you forgotten that these orders are coming from _the Mayor_. You don’t really have an option here, _Commissioner_." He coated the last word heavy with mockery. "Now, the files. _Please_."

  
A cocky grin crept across Ed's face as Barne's teeth clenched. It was clear who had the upper hand.

  
"Nathaniel," Barne's ripped his eyes off Ed and barked at the officer in the room. "Go collect the folder of Tarquin Stemmel from Sargent Benny."

  
The officer gave a curt 'yes sir', throwing a glance at Edward before leaving the room. Ed couldn't help the Cheshire like smile that cover his face as he left. _Go fetch._

  
Nathaniel returned a few short moments later. He held the paperwork out to Barne's, who in turn ripped them out of his hands and slammed them against Ed's chest. He stayed silent as he did so, allowing anger to speak for him.

  
"Thank you." Ed's tone was heavy with sarcasm as he took a step back and taunted the men with a mock bow.

  
"Get out." Barne's voice dripped with irritation.

  
Pleased with himself, Edward left the office and strolled out of the building. His mood had been raised significantly, loving the way he could make the GCPD rollover for him just with an empty threat.

  
Practically skipping back to his car with the case file in hand, Edward directed his mind to the tasks he had left.

  
There was a certain Chinese dumpster he needed to pay a visit to. Then a far off cemetery. That task would be time consuming, it would be much easier if he called for some help.

  
Tucking Stemmel's file under one arm, he used the other to fish his phone out of his front pocket. He flipped the screen open and began skimming through his contacts as he approached his car. However, before he could dial a number, his phone and the paper file was knocked away as a pair of hand grabbed Ed by his shirt and threw him against a brick building.

  
Ed's eyes snapped shut as his head clashed against the wall, pain instantly flooding his senses.

  
"Gotcha." The voice was unfamiliar, but it belonged to a man.

  
"What-What is the meaning of this?" Ed growled out as he squirmed against the others hold. He blinked his eyes back open, still unable to recognize the man. Was he getting mugged? It was Gotham city afterall, these things were more than just common, but Ed didn't have time for this. "What, do you want my money? Just take it and let me go. I don't have time for this."

  
The other man laughed in response. "Thanks, but no thanks. Tempting offer though."

  
Annoyance flared up inside of Ed, pushing aside any fear he might have. What did this man want then? Was this a kidnapping? Murder? It didn't matter, Ed had to get away. He began to frantically look around, formulating a plan in his head.

  
"Eddie, how bout you ease up a bit? Boss said he doesn't want him injured." This second voice interrupted Ed's train of thought. _Eddie?_ Was he talking to him?

  
"Aw come on. Way to ruin the fun, dickhead." The man holding Ed loosened his grip on him, allowing Ed some breathing room. _I guess he's Eddie._ How nice, they shared the same name.

  
Wait a minute. "Who are you talking about?" Ed speaks up now.

  
"You, dummy. He said to bring you in unharmed." The second man replies.

  
Ed rolled his eyes at the lack of common sense. _"I mean_ , who said that? Who's your boss?"

  
The man scoffs back. "The Penguin. Now come one man, lets get him in the car." Ed now takes notice of a third man standing to the side. There's no way he can fight his way out of this.

  
"No no no wait, wait listen. I'll go to Oswald on my own, I'll go. But first I have a few errands that need to be taken care of. Stop, _listen_ , they're for the Penguin. Oswald _needs_ these things done. _Would you just stop._ ” Ed twists and yanks his body around as the men take him by the arms, dragging him to their car and ignoring his protests.

  
When they reach the car one of the guys opens the car door, the other two attempt to throw Ed in but he places his feet against the car and pushes away.

  
“ _Listen!_ ” He’s practically shouting by now. “I’ll go with you, I’ll go! But I _need_ those papers. They are of significant importance to your boss. And I am _not_ leaving my car behind.” Ed finally yanks one of his arms free, turning to scowl at the men.

  
“ _Fine,_ ” The one not holding his arm replies. He reaches into Ed’s coat pocket searching for his keys. When he finds them he tosses them to the other man not restraining Ed. “Marco, go grab this jackasses papers and follow us in his car. And don’t whine about it.” The man who caught the keys begins to protest before begrudgingly walking off. “Happy now? Get in.” Ed is grabbed by the back of his jacket and hair, then roughly forced into the car.

  
He groans in pain as he settles into the seat, nursing his head.

  
Edward’s life seems to be riddled with problems and inconveniences.

  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Slamming the car door shut behind him, Oswald waddled out into the brisk Gotham air.

  
“I’ll be waiting right here, sir.” His driver called after him.

  
Oswald payed him no attention and kept walking to his nearby destination.

  
When his driver had picked him up, Oswald informed him that he had an errand to run before they went to City Hall. The driver had tried to protest, insisting that his presence there was of the utmost importance, but Oswald _‘kindly’_ reminded him that he was capable of making his own decisions -- after all, he is the mayor -- and promised to be quick (a promise he had no intention of keeping).

  
His “important errand” was simple; Oswald merely wanted to pay a visit to his bar. See if anyone had heard from Ed. _Maybe_ order a drink or two.

  
Not that he needed anymore to drink. He was already feeling slightly intoxicated from all the wine he had consumed, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Oswald had an insatiable urge to drown this pain and suffering with alcohol.

  
He swung the door to his club open, smiling due to the buzzed feeling in his head.

  
“Hello!” He announced his presence upon entering. For the most part, this was the alcohol speaking. “It is I, The Penguin.” His smile was childlike as he captured the attention of everyone in the place. He was feeling giddy, bubbly almost. “Unfortunately, I am here on business, not pleasure. And I have a very important question for everyone in here.” His smile stayed firm on his face as he leisurely made his way into the heart of the club. “Does anyone in here know the whereabouts of one Edward Nygma?”

  
Oswald stopped speaking, waiting for an answer but nobody spoke up.

  
“No? Anyone?”

  
Another pause. More silence.

  
“So no one knows where he is? Nothing?” When yet again everyone remained quiet, Oswald scrunched his nose up, smile falling. “Fine. That’s all.” He limped over to the bar. “Two shots of whiskey.” He gave his order to an attentive bar tender.

  
He glanced around the bar, finding some sliver of satisfaction at how full the place was. Business had been good for the past months, only getting better. Life had been good for the past months. Ever since he had freed Ed from Arkham and indulged in his political campaign, life had be really good. Sure there had been some hiccups along the way, but the highs outweighed the lows. That is, of course, until everything came crashing down on him.

  
Two glasses were set and Oswald was brought out of his thoughts as he watched the brown liquid be poured into one. Without waiting for the other to be filled, he grabbed the first glass and threw it back. His face crinkled in disgust at the brief but strong taste. Whiskey wasn’t his choice of drink, but it was strong and he could take it better than vodka.

  
He sat his elbows up on the counter and pressed his face into his palms. He rubbed his eyes as the alcohol gradually took affect. A warm sense ran down his spine, settling in his stomach. His head feeling like it was swimming in its self.

  
“Hellooo?” A woman was speaking, she sounded close. Was someone talking to him?

  
Oswald pulled his face out of his hands and looked to his side. Right next to him sat a lively looking red-headed woman. He scarcely remembers her chatting up a few other fellows when he walked in. Her face said she was 12, her body said 25. Oswald looked her up and down, taking notice of the flashy green dress she wore.

  
Green. 

  
Such a nice color.

  
“Did you say something?” Oswald squinted, more than just slightly perplexed.

  
“I saiidd,” _Wow, attitude much?_ “What was that all about? Was shouting really necessary?”

  
Oswald gave her a sarcastic smile. “Yes, it was. Not that it’s any of your business. Thanks for asking.” He turned his attention to his second shot.

  
“Rude much? You pretty much made it everyone’s business when you barged in here like you owned the place. I’m surprised they didn’t throw you out, they like to keep this joint classy. What did you call yourself again? ‘The Penguin’?” She scoffed at him, sass turned up several notches.

  
Oswald choked down his shot while she ran her mouth, slamming the glass down with a bittersweet smile before turning to face her. “Well I would have been _much_ more surprised if they had thrown me out, considering I _do own this place_.” He gave her a bitchy smile, completely pleased with the easy opening she offered him.

  
The girls mouth dropped open and her brows furrowed skeptically. “Are you for real? Or have you just had too much to drink?”

  
Oswald huffed out a laugh. This was almost too much fun. “Barkeep.” He called. The man was over in seconds.

  
“Yes, sir?”

  
“I might have had too much to drink, remind me, what’s my name?” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

  
“Oswald Cobblepot, sir.” The man was clearly confused.

  
“Right. And what’s the name of the man who owns this well-managed club?”

  
“Oswald Cobblepot...sir?” Slight hesitation.

  
Oswald’s face wore a cynical smile that stretched ear from ear. “That’ll be all.” He turned back to the fire-y head woman now smugger than ever. The dumbfounded look on her face was all the victory he required. “Hmph.”

  
“Okkaaayy, well then.” She pursed her lips. “Didn’t need to be so mean.”

  
He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the empty glasses in front of him, running a finger around the rim. He considered ordering another one. It was clear he was already drunk, but what could one more hurt?

  
“So who is this Edward guy anyway?” Why was she trying to hold a conversation with him? Could she not take a hint? “Did he do something to piss you off? Gonna rough him up when you find him?” More questions, great.

  
“Nope. Just someone I need to talk to.” He tried his best to ignore her.

  
“Oh, so is he like your boyfriend or something?” She persisted.

  
Yep, that settles it, he could use another drink. He caught the bartenders eye and raised his empty glass. He came over at once, getting to it.

  
“Who _are_ you, exactly? And what do you want?” This nameless woman was lucky Oswald wasn’t himself, alcohol currently operating him. If he had been this vexed while sober she wouldn’t still be sitting here.

  
“Ivy Pepper.” She said cheerfully and extended a hand to Oswald. When he ignored it a slight pout replaced her smile, but she continued nonetheless. “I’m just looking for some new friends.”

  
“Well, Ms. Pepper,” He used formalities as if to exaggerate the fact that he was not a friend. He paused to down the rest of his last shot. “Good luck with that. I have a friend of my own to look for, so I’ll be going now.” He stood now, not bothering to push in his chair as he turned.

  
“Bye then.” He heard Ivy say as he hobbled off.

  
His mind swirled as he made his way to the back exit in order to avoid his driver who was still parked out front. When he stumbled out the door, he was surprised to see how dark it was. What time was it? How long had he been in there? Why’d he go in there in the first place? Where was Edward?

  
He staggered down the dark, empty alley way, his sense of reason impaired from all the drinks he had. There was a sharp chill to the air, but Oswald didn’t notice. His head lolled to one side as he dragged himself out into the deserted street.

He needed to find Ed. 

  
“ _ED!”_ The cry left his mouth before he even thought of it. _“EDWARD!”_ He cried out to the city sky.

  
Oswald's heart sat heavy in his chest, each beat encouraging him to call out again. _"EDWARD!!"_ He screamed, voice cracking at the end.

  
He aimlessly carried himself down the ill lit street. His mind felt fuzzy, and he couldn't quite remember why but there was an ache in his heart.

  
So many things have caused his heart to ache this past year. So much loss.

  
His mother.

  
His father.

  
Edward.

  
_Edward._

  
_"ED!!”_ He hopelessly shrieked.

  
Where was he? Oswald needed him. He was the only one that could take this feeling away. Why wasn’t he here? He wanted to run to his arms. He wanted to go home. When did his arms begin to feel like home?

  
_“EDWARD”_ His voice was growing tired but he refused to stop. _"EDWARD, WHERE ARE YOU?"_

  
He stumble over a piece of garbage, causing a sharp pain to run up his bad leg. The mixed pain between his leg and heart urged him to cry out.

  
_“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, ED"_ He wasn't exactly sure what he was referring to. The current state of his life, he supposed. He just needed to scream. It felt so good to scream. Oswald had never been good at holding in his emotions.

  
He continued to make his way through the darkness, feeling lost in every sense of the word.

  
_“EDWAAARDDD”_ His voice was sharp and seeping with pain.

  
He felt breathless and exhausted as he staggered on. Would he ever feel rested and happy again? _No_ , his tormented heart resolved, he’s not even sure he’s ever felt true happiness in the first place. Can’t even remember the last time he had a full night of sleep. Not like sleeping would help. Nothing could help him. He couldn’t even drank this pain away.

  
This pain that felt like a knife in his hollow chest. Emotional pain so strong it felt physical. He could feel it like a rock in his stomach, causing him to sink down and drown at the bottom of a lake of agony.  
Ed should have shot him when he had the chance, let his body rot at the bottom of a real lake. Oswald would have been better off for it. Wouldn’t have to feel this way. Why didn’t he shoot him?

  
_“EDDD”_ This time Oswald’s voice ended on a sob, the urge to cry too strong to deny in this drunken state. _"ED!"_

  
Sobs racked his body, his arms went limp at his sides and his legs gave out, knees crashing onto the dirty concrete. _“Ed!”_ He managed to choke out between sobs. “ _Edward!_ Where are you?” His voice grew weak, any anger that remained replaced by his sorrow "Come back, Ed. _Edward, Edward, Edward.”_ He repeated his name like it was a prayer that could save him, and maybe it could if only he believed.

  
"Ed, I love you." His confession leaves his lips in a whisper after a particularly hard sob.

  
His misery and heartbreak flood his body so strongly, Oswald feels like he could throw up. Or maybe it's from the crying, or the alcohol. Possibly a combination of all three. He doesn't know and it doesn't matter to him as the nausea rolls over him.

  
"Penguin?" Someone calls to him from an unknown direction.

  
"Ed?" Oswald picks his head up, barely able to keep it from drooping. Tears and liquor blur his vision as he searches. Before he can find the body belonging to the voice, something strikes his jaw and a sharp pain rushes through him.

  
Before he can recover from the attack, he's hit again in the same spot. Then again, this time on his back.

  
He cries out at each painful encounter against his body. His head is ringing but he looks up, trying to identify his attacker. Several guys stand over him. One, two, four of them? Is that a fifth? Or is his intoxication causing him to see doubles?

  
Another sharp foot collides with his rib cage, knocking his breath out of him. He doubles over and wheezes, but a kick to his face forces him back up. Blood rushes down his face like a faucet, and he gets the distinct feeling that this would hurt more if he wasn't as drunk as he is. Not to say that it doesn't hurt, because it does like _hell,_ but he's positive his nose is broken and he's managed not to scream out in agony.

  
He barely acknowledges a hand yanking his hair up when another kick lands on his ribs again. He groans in pain, then there's a fist to his face. Then three consecutive strikes to his stomach and he's coughing up blood. His body is thrown to the ground and he's surrounded at all sides. The kicks come mercilessly and land everywhere. They bruise his legs and sides, skin breaking open beneath cloth.

  
Through all of this, Oswald doesn't bother to fight back. Doesn't even _attempt_ to run away or defend himself. There's no point in it. He's defenseless, weak, and _alone_. It's hopeless. _He's_ hopeless. Everything is hopeless.

  
Suddenly the torturing kicks cease, and all the men back away. All but one, that is. Oswald weakly lifts his head up. The man reaches in his back pocket and pulls out an object. He then aims it at his abdomen. Oswald scarcely recognizes the gun before there's a loud bang hitting the air, then an even louder paining ripping through his stomach. His mouth drops open, gasping out what feels like his last breathes. His hands grasp at his stomach, warm blood staining them red, his warm blood soaking his skin.

  
His head drops back against the concrete, the impact painful but drowned by the feeling of blood rushing out of him.

  
He hardly hears one of the men utter something that sounds like _'lets get out of here' before_ they all fade from Oswald's vision. Everything is fading from his vision. Cold engulfs his body and he feels light. His eyes lazily blink against the feelings that overwhelm him. Feelings. What is he feeling? He feels almost peaceful. His body feels tormented, but his mind is silent and the world is slowly growing dim. The entire world is silent around him. The busy city life of Gotham unable to reach his ears.

  
Oswald's eyes flutters close and one last thought passes through his mind before he's sent hurtling into the unknown.

  
_I'm so alone._

  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
When the car rolls up to the mansion, Edward is hesitant to get out. He wasn't ready to face Oswald yet. He had racked his mind, searching for what he was going to say during the whole ride, but he came up empty handed. He still doesn't know what he wants. He is completely unprepared for this.

  
However, when his car door is opened he climbs out anyway. Delaying wont do him any good, only allow nerves to eat him up furthermore.

  
He's staring up at his home when he feels a smack against his chest.

  
"Here's your precious paperwork." One of the men growls as he passed him. Ed ignores his remarks and follows behind.

  
The leader raps his knuckles against the wooden door before pushing it open and inviting himself in.

  
"Boss?" He calls out. They all walk in after him, glancing around for Penguin.

  
They walk to the front room, everyone confused when he doesn't show.

  
"Hey, Penguin!" Another one shouts. They wait. Still, no response.

  
Ed furrows his eyebrows, perplexed. Why would he not be home? Where did he go? Why would he send a search party after Ed only to leave?

  
"Try calling him." One of the guys suggest. Another responds by pulling out his cellphone and punching buttons.

  
Cellphone.

  
"Did you happen to grab my phone?" Ed turns to the man that had driven his car and collected his paperwork.

  
"No." He rolls his eyes as if he was asked an idiotic question.

  
Edward shakes his head and walks away from the group, tired of being surrounded by utter morons. He drops the case file onto a cushion then leans against the sofa arm and listens as the phone rings in anticipation.

  
After several prolonged rings, there's no answer. The group looks around muddled and angry. Ed groans as they begin to bicker among themselves.

  
"Whatever, lets just get out of here."

  
"But what about the reward?"

  
"Let's try calling again."

  
"He already didn't fuckin' answer, there's no point."

  
"Then what else can we do?"

  
"I don't care, I just want to leave."

  
"Fine, leave and we'll split the cash between us two."

  
"Why don't we just leave a note? Put our names on it so he knows who to pay."

  
"Or we could try to call him again."

  
"Shut the _fuck_ up."

  
"Alright, write the fucking note then."

  
One of the men cross the room to Ed's desk, ripping out a piece of paper and pen. Ed considers protesting just to be a nuisance, but he knows annoying them isn't worth the annoyance it'll cause him.

  
They finish scribbling out their names and a small message, then place the note under the corded phone.

"Don't fucking touch that, jackass." One of the men bark at Ed, causing him to roll his eyes.

  
"Got it. Now if that's all, get _out_ of _my_ house." His tone showcases his irritation for these people.

  
Each man pulls a face, one hurls a lame insult, another backs it up, but eventually they all shuffle their way out.

  
As soon as they're out the door Ed stalks over to the phone, snatches the message they left behind, and tears it into several small pieces. He smiles to himself as he drops the remains to the floor. Petty? Yes. Satisfying? Also yes.

  
He leaves the room and travels to the dining room.

  
"Oswald?" He hesitantly speaks. Is he really not home? When he's met with silence and another empty room, he determines that is certainly the case. For a split second he considers heading to the kitchen and preparing himself a meal, but ultimately he decides against it in favor for resting in his bedroom.

  
When he enters his room, he slides his jacket off and drops it onto the floor. Then he moves on to his tie and undershirt, continuing until he's left in nothing but his boxers.

  
Although he's immensely relieved he doesn't have to face Oswald just yet, he can't deny the underlying feeling of disappointment or the hidden thoughts of concern.

  
Where could he be? What is he off doing?

  
Ed crawls onto the bed, pushing these thoughts and the covers away. He nestles into the soft fabric. It feels like heaven against his skin, and he's immensely grateful for this small bliss.

  
This day has taken a lot out of Edward, he could use some sleep.

  
Ed's eyes slip close and he can't help one last thought passing through his mind before he sinks into unconsciousness.

  
_I'm so alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me you noticed the parallel endings? In case you didn't, here what I'm talking about; every time I switched pov Ed and Os mirrored each other.
> 
> EX:
> 
> He groans in pain as he settles into the seat, nursing his head.  
> Edward’s life seems to be riddled with problems and inconveniences.
> 
> He settles against it and nurses his bottle.  
> Oswald’s life feels as if it is brimming with problems and hassles.
> 
> Yeah so that was on purpose, not me being a bad/lazy writer. I just thought it was something neat.


	4. Take Me Back To The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward copes with the loss of Oswald.  
> Everyone has strange ways of grieving.

  
It was on the third day of Oswald's absence when Ed started to worry.

Not worry, he wasn't worrying. Oswald was a grown man. He was fully capable of making his own decisions and doing whatever he so pleased. Edward was _not_ worried about him.

He was just...... _concerned._

Or so he told himself.

But he pushed these feelings down, shoved them aside. He had nothing to feel worr-- _concerned_ about. Oswald was gone for a few days, no big deal. So what he disappeared right after Ed dragged him through hell and back? It didn't necessarily mean anything. His absence could have nothing to do with Ed. After all, Ed had stirred enough trouble in Oswald's crime empire that he was probably off fixing everything. Oswald was resilient like that, one of the many things Edward deeply admired about him.

In any case, Oswald was fine. He'd be back eventually. Ed wasn't worried.

Then two more days passed.

Ed had been sitting on the couch -- _not_ worrying about Oswald -- when he flicked on the TV. That was his first mistake. His second mistake was switching it to the news.

In big, bold letters the headline read: _MAYOR COBBLEPOTS DISAPPEARANCE CAUSES DISTRESS THROUGHOUT GOTHAM._

Ed immediately switched the television off, but it was too late. There was no way he was able to push aside his concerns now. The entire city had noticed Oswald's absence and they labeled it a 'disappearance'. What does that mean? His thoughts were now plagued with Oswald, his absence now only magnified. Questions with no answers pestered his every waking moment.

_Where was he? Why did he run off? Was he now avoiding Ed? That didn't make sense. Why would he go through the trouble of sending his lackeys after him if he was only going to split before they delivered him? Did he change his mind? Or was this all just part of some plan? Was he planning to get revenge on Ed? What was he off doing? Why wasn't he here? Where did he go? Where did he go? Where? Where was he? Where Where Where Where Where?_

Edward's frustrations grew with each question he was unable to answer.

No matter. He would fix that.

Two more days passed and Oswald had officially been missing for a week. Ed felt like he had waited an adequate length of time. It was perfectly acceptable if he went searching for answers. But where should he start? If this were a police investigation, they'd begin by questioning the people Oswald was closest with. But the only person Oswald was close with was......was Ed....

No matter, Ed would just turn to the people Oswald spent the most time with aside from himself; his footmen. Obviously, if anyone knew what was going on with the Penguin it would be his crew. And Ed knew exactly where to find them.

Oswald's self-owned club was as lively as always. Ed had only been to this place a few other times, but he's seen the paperwork and he knew it brought in profit. It was clear this place was a success.

Ed maneuvered his way to the bar and found himself an empty seat. He fixed his glasses and patiently waited for the bartender to notice him. When the well-dressed man greeted Ed and asked him for his order, Ed took his opportunity.

"Actually, I'm here on business. See, I'm looking for Gabrielle Piscella. I need to speak with him." He raised his chin and leveled his eyes with the others, hoping to give off a self-assured, confident air.

The bartender narrowed his gaze and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah? And what kinda business do you have with Gabe?"

Edward swallowed a lump in his throat, holding his stare. "I need to talk to him about matters concerning the Penguin." Ed finally lost his gaze for a few seconds when there was no response. The man looked more dubious before, so he continued. "Oswald hasn't been home in a week. He hasn't been responding to any of my calls either. I figured if anyone knew where he was it would be Gabe." As he spoke his professional looked was replaced with a softer, more sincere expression.

Emotion flashed through the bartenders eyes and Ed hurried to place it. _Was that.....pity? Sympathy? Why would he....Was Oswald avoiding him?_ Ed remembers the way Oswald had been more than willing to drop everything and flee town after his mothers death. _Did he leave town because of me?_ Cold panic seeped into Edward's veins.

"Do you know where Oswald is?" The words almost came out in a rush, haste to speak before the other man did.

There was hesitance before he spoke, then finally, "No, I don't know where he is." His voice lacked candor and it was clear he was hiding something.

Ed's jaw tightened and he spoke through clenched teeth, irritation rapidly building up. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not- Look." He placed his hands on the countered and leveled himself with Ed, clearly at a crossroads. "Really, I have no clue where Cobblepot is." More hesitation.

"But?" Ed urged him on.

"He was in here exactly a week ago, right before the rumors started. He was acting real strange before he left."

_Rumors?_ "Oswald was here? What was he doing here?" None of this was making any sense. Ed was struggling to piece together this puzzle.

"He came in making a scene then had several drinks at the bar. He was really off, completely wasted by the time he left."

Ed just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes and letting out a huff. "I need _details_. What was he saying? How was he behaving abnormal?"

"Like I said, he came in causing a ruckus. Demanding everyone's attention and asking us if he knew where some guy was-- Ethan, Eric? Something like that-- Anyway, then he came over the bar and did some shots and talked to some redheaded woman. He asked me what his name was? It was all unusual." As the bartender recalled the events Ed felt glued to his seat.

"Hold on. Was there any chance he had asked for an 'Edward'? Maybe, Edward Nygma?"

"Yeah, that was it, I remember now. Quite the peculiar name, isn't it?" The bartender eyed Edward as he processed this. "Why, you know him?"

A cold shiver ran it's way down Ed's spine as dread settled in his chest. His mind spun as he tried to connect everything. No, this didn't make sense. Why would Oswald go out of his way to ask around for Ed if he was planning to skip down?

"N-no, no I don't.........Did he-did he say anything before he left?" He stumbled over his words, finding it difficult to concentrate on talking when he was trying to think.

The man racked his brain trying to remember what he had heard Penguin say. "Yeah, something about....Something about how he had to go look for a friend? Maybe the same Edward guy? I don't know, he wasn't talking to me. He was talking to the woman, I was just eavesdropping. It's part of the job."

Edward's eyebrows knitted together. _Oswald left...to look for me? How drunk had he been?_

"You mentioned something about rumors. What rumors?" So many indications directing every which way. It felt like the answer was just barely out of reach.

The man eyed Edward up and down again before he spoke again. "I think it's best if you finished this conversation up with Gabe. He knows more than I do." He made a wave at another man who then came over and took his place. "Let's go, I'll take you to him."

Ed watched as the man came around the bar, curiosity probing his mind. What was this man hiding from him? They walked side by side in silence as they left the social area and exited down an isolated corridor. It was the other man who broke the silence.

"I had no idea the Penguin was married." His tone was casual, sincere.

"What? He's not." What was this guy talking about?

"Oh, so you're just his boyfriend then?" He threw a side glance at Ed.

Edward stumble over his own feet, barely catching himself in time. The question came as a shock, to say the least.

"What? No I'm not-we're not, no that's--I'm just his best friend that's all, we're not....Why would you think that?" Edward stumbled over his words as they all rushed out at once. Was he feeling _embarrassed_?

"Oh, okay. Sorry? You're just so worried about him and you said 'he hadn't been home' so I assumed you lived together and I just thought....ya know..." He was taken back by Ed's fumbling and discomfort, and tried to smooth things over.

"I mean, we do live together...It's just not..It's not like that?" Ed tried to look up at the man but his eyes were glued to the ground.

"Right." He replied, letting the conversation die. They walked in silence for the rest of the way.

After a few more turns they stood at a sliding silver door. The bartender rapped his knuckles against it five times. After the fifth one, the door slide slightly open and a stubby, balding man appeared through the opening. He gave the bartender an expectant look. He leaned in and whispered a single word.

Ed wore a look of bewildered amusement. Did he _really_ just say _'igloo'?_ For the first time in a long time, Edward genuinely felt like laughing. How extra could Oswald, the 'Penguin', be?

In response, the short man pulled the door open the rest of the way and stepped aside, allowing both men access. The room was of decent size with slightly dim lighting. Directly in the middle sat several couches, all angled to face each other, and on these couches sat men who had been in midst conversation before they interrupted. Edward recognized Gabrielle among them.

As the man walked in he stood up taller, arm folder behind his back, carrying himself in a much more professional manner. Ed followed behind feeling slightly out of place.

"What can we do for you, boys?" One of the gruffer men asked.

"You had company asking to speak to Mr. Piscella on private matters concerning Mr. Cobblepot's disappearance." The man's entire demeanor seemed to change in their presence.

Gabe stood up in reply and told the surrounding men, "Don't worry, this shouldn't take long." Then he approached the two men, nodding at the bartender. "Thanks, I got it from here." The dismissed man nodded in response and exited the same way they entered.

The henchman crossed his arms and waited from Edward to speak. "So?" He prompted.

"Right, uhm, well." Edward straightened himself out and cleared his throat. "I figured if anyone had heard from or knew where Oswald was it would be you. Am I correct?"

Gabe's face was full of doubt and suspicion. "Are you telling me you haven't heard?"

"No, haven't heard what?" Edward was quick to respond. His palms felt sweaty as nerves got the best of him. Had Oswald really left town after all?

There was a small moment of silence as Gabe studied him. When he spoke again, Ed almost wished he hadn't.

"Oswald was attacked and left for dead a week ago. A group of guys assaulted him, beat him within an inch of his left then shot a bullet through his chest. Or so that's what they say. My best guess? Cobblepot's 30 feet deep at the bottom of a lake." Gabe let the words take their place before adding, "He's dead, Ed."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Dmitri Mikhailov. Russian mobster, 37 years of age, transgender male, been involved in the mafia over half his life.

Dmitri Mikhailov. The man who had fired the bullet that killed Oswald.

It took Ed two days to find him. Two _long_ days. Two days full of desperate anger and restless regret. Two more days without sleep, without eating. Two more days _without Oswald._ Oswald. Oswald had been gone for nine days. He had been _dead_ for _nine whole days_. It didn't feel real. Disbelief and grief embedded themselves deep in Ed's mind. He pushed them aside, instead choosing to focus on his plans. His plans, of course, for Mikhailov.

It had taken Ed 13 whole hours to uncover the name of the man behind Oswald's death and his five lackeys who had helped. It had be almost too easy, really. Beating and killing the Penguin gave notorious bragging rights, which most of them had abused. It had taken 2 hours to find names, another half for their locations, another hour for the driving, then almost 6 more to bound, gag, and drag each of them to an abandoned clinic. Immediately they had gave up the name of their boss. Such flimsy loyalty. It was a painful remind of Oswald's love.

_'I wont call Ed. I wont let you hurt him.'_

Ed hated the way these thoughts stung his heart, and he would deny the tears they brought to his eyes.

He pushed these feelings aside and replaced them with violence. These men would pay for what they had done. And _oh_ how they did. The rest of the 4 hours was spent making sure they did. They had all beat the life out of Oswald, Ed was only evening the score. An eye for an eye, right? Well, maybe the saying wasn’t suppose to be taken so literally, but that didn’t stop him. 4 hours of pure sadism, their screams a blissful lullaby to his ears. After bones had been broke, skin had been ripped, minds had been abused, Ed finally felt a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt since Isabella’s death. He would have liked it to last much longer, but beating the shit out of five men had taken a lot of energy out of him. So when they were all begging, desperately trying to hold onto their lives, Ed struck a deal.

“Last man standing wins.”

Then he cut them free and watched, pistol in hand, as they all turned on each other. He watched with childlike glee as they beat the lives out of their own friends, the exact thing they had done to Oswald. It was too perfect.

And when the last man was left standing, Ed stayed true to his word. As humorous as it would be for him to to betray the man and shoot him on the spot, he needed him alive to send a message. This broken, bloodied man would serve as a threat to _Dmitri._ He would recall all the horrors he’d endure, give his boss just a small peek at what was in store for him. Ed wanted him wrapped in fear and anticipation when he came for him. He dropped the abused, half-alive man at Dmitri’s doorstep, bag over his head and a note tied to his neck.

_A nightmare for some._   
_For others, as a savior I come._   
_My hands, cold and bleak,_   
_it's the warm hearts they seek._   
_What am I?_

_Death. And I am much closer to you than you know._

\--------------

Edward then went home and spent the next 24 hours making arrangements and decisions.

  
Afterall, these men had only been the appetizers. His real course was Dmitri and he wanted to make sure this was a meal he enjoyed. So he took his time shinning his platter and collecting his silverware. New tools and toys eager to be used. Fresh, cruel ideas scratching at his skull.

Ed was ready for his feast.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_**////warning, violent & gruesome content////**_

    [Nothing too bad or detailed, just a little torture]

  
Plastic tarps covered the floor of the barren room. Ed wanted an easy clean-up after his fun. A table full of tools stood next to him. In front of him, Mikhailov sat in a metal chair placed in the middle of the room. A brown sack covered his head and he was gagged underneath. He was stripped of his clothing, left to sit in a white tank top, grey boxers, and white socks.

Ed took a step forward, eager to begin the game.

He leans close, perhaps a bit too close, and rips the bag off Dmitri’s head, causing the other man to startle. He blinks at the change in brightness and starts to shout. His angry words and threats are muffled by the fabric shoved inside his mouth.

“Hellooo,” A smile sat on Ed’s lips, his voice eerily cheerful. “So glad to finally make your acquaintance. Did you enjoy my riddle?” He cocked his head to the side, feigning innocence.

Dmitri’s response came out unintelligible through his gag.

“Oh, right.” Ed’s hands reach up and remove the blockage.

“Get away from me you _sick freak_.” Dmitri’s harsh words came out quick, like water from a broken dam. “I swear to God if you lay a _fucking_ hand on me you’ll regret it.”

Ed scoffed, smile unwavering. “Will I now?” He was finding too much amusement in this.

“I _promise_ you will. You have no fucking clue who you’re messing with.” He spit the words in Ed’s face.

“Mmmm. Yes I do.” Ed stared into the others furious eyes, a calm look expressed on his own face. “Dmitri Ruslan Mikhailov. Birthday December 3rd, 1980. You were forced to join the mafia when you were 17 years old, needing the income to take care of your younger 2 siblings. Your mother died of ovarian cancer. You came out as trans and began transitioning one year after her death. You never met your father, in fact he doesn’t even know you exist, he’s probably somewhere back in Russia married with a whole new set of kids. Your girlfriend is Raelyn Brown, you’ve been dating for 7 years. You live together. She’s probably wondering where you are right now.” Ed flashed a smile at the outraged man. “I know exactly who you are.”

“How did yo-”

He cuts Mikhailov off before he finishes. “I did my homework.” He’s giddy, relishing in the way this kind of power feels.

The man sits in horrified confusion for a moment before fear grips at him. He panics, tugging against the tight material that’s keeping him secured to the chair. “Un-fucking-tie me. Untie me right now!” He shouts at Edward, fury spread across his face. But behind the angry words and the violent threats, Ed see’s the fear and _oh_ it fills him with delight.

Ed says nothing, letting his silence speak for him. He leans back, ready to retreat to his table and really start the entertainment, when Mikhailov speaks again.

“I swear to God, I swear to _motherfucking God_ if you don’t let me go _right now_ I will fucking kill _everyone_ you _love.”_

White, hot anger flashes through Ed, instantly replacing any joy he previous had. In a second he spun back around, moving before he even thinks about it. He buries a hand in Mikhailov’s hair and painfully pulls at it, yanking his head back. His other hand shoots up and wraps itself around his neck. His face was twisted with rage and only an inch away from the others.

“Everyone I have ever loved is already dead.” He hissed, hand squeezing dangerously tight. “That’s why you’re here.”

He stood like that for a few more seconds, finding relief in the way the Russian struggled for air. Eventually he let go and rushed back to his table. Dmitri coughed and sputtered as Edward chose a tool; a slightly dulled knife.

“So that’s what this is about, huh? I killed someone you cared about, of course I did. I’ve killed plenty of loved ones, join the party pal.” Though he was out of breathe and defenseless he continued to keep up the act. Good, Ed enjoyed a little spirit. It would only make it that much better when he was begging for his life. 

Slowly he stalked toward Mikhailov with the knife in hand. “Exactly nine days ago you killed a very powerful man in Gotham. I’m confident you know who I’m talking about.”

The man was hesitant to speak. “The Penguin.” He hid any fear he might be feeling behind a stone mask.

“Bingo.” Ed smiled again. “Are you familiar with the Penguin’s real name?”

“Of course. Oswald Cobblepot. He wasn’t just a major crime boss, he was also the.....the mayor of Gotham...” His sentence trailed off as his eyes began to travel up and down Ed, something akin to recognition crossing his face.

Ed nodded, lips pressed together tightly. “Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot.” His dragged the name out, his tongue lingering on each word. “One of the most important men in Gotham city. Not only was he the head our political system, but he also ran Gotham’s underworld. He was a feared crime boss and a beloved mayor,” Ed paused to push up his glasses and swallow the lump in his throat. “He was also my best friend.” The air felt thick around him. He raised his knife and pointed it at Mikhailov. “And _you_ killed him. Shot him in the middle of the street like a dog.”

Mikhailov’s stare dances between Ed and the knife as he says nothing in response. That’s fine, Ed thinks. He’ll be having a hard time keeping quiet soon enough.

Edward holds up his knife and gives it a twirl. His voice picks up the lightheartedness it held before. “Do you like it?”

Dmitiri’s eyes narrow as he watches him. “It’s dull. Hardly impressive.”

“Yes it is.” Ed’s smile grows almost hysterically large, white teeth all on display. “You see, sharp knifes are for quick, clean cuts. That’s not what I want.” He drags the side of his knife firmly across Dmitri’s cheek.

Pulling away, he looks down at the tied man with a sadistic expression. “Tell me, Dmitri. When you use a gun which hand do you use? And don’t lie, I already know the answer.”

Dmitri’s hands were open and vulnerable against the arms of the chair. He fixed Ed with a hard, resolved stare. “Left.”

“Correct.” Those were the last words that passed Ed’s mouth before he slammed his knife down onto Mikhailov’s left ring finger. There was a sharp crack in the air, immediately followed by his screaming. He clenched his teeth together and threw his head back, muffled screams and groans passing through his teeth. His chest heaved as he looked down at his finger. The dull knife had done a good job at cutting through the top skin and breaking the bone, but the finger was still attached by a stubborn piece of flesh.

“Oops, my bad, I’ll get that.” Ed’s bright voice was entirely out of place as he reached down and ripped the skin apart. Now holding the finger in the air, he smiled pleasantly back at the other hand. “Oh don’t worry, the entire hand will be next soon enough. But for now, I just want the finger that pulled the trigger.”

Edward listened to Mikhailov’s heavy breathing as he viewed the single finger that killed Oswald. “You know, it’s seriously pathetic how six guys were needed to bring down just one man.” He mused aloud, not particularly talking to Dmitri, but he responded anyway.

His breathes came out shaky as he spoke. “Ha...You think that’s pathetic? You should have seen your little friend when we got to him. He was all alone talking to himself. On his knees _crying_ like a little bitch. He was screaming before he even knew we were there.” He was spitting and hissing his words out, voice low and soaked in pain. “He didn’t even put up a fight. Just laid there repeating himself. I was surprised he didn’t start crying for his mommy.” He glared hard at Ed, watching his words hit him.

For a moment all Ed could do was stare and let the words sink in. _Crying. Screaming. What was Oswald doing out there?_

“What-What was saying? You said he was screaming, but _why?”_ Edward’s thoughts were disconnected, his expression betraying how fazed he felt

Dmitri said nothing, a smug look sitting on his eyes.

_"What was he saying!?"_ Edward screamed at him, then in one swift thrust he shoved the mans detached finger into his eye, a squelching sound accompanying the action.

Mikhailov yanked his head away and screamed back. His body twitched and shook, a cocktail of panic and pain flooding his body. _"EDWARD--holyfuckinggoddamn--EDWARD, HE WAS--EDWARD."_ Unable to form a full sentence the man returned to screaming.

Ed was taken aback at first, confusion filling his head. How did he know his name? How had he-- and then he realized; Dmitri was answering the question.

_Oswald had died calling for me._

Edward's heart sunk like a rock to the pit of his stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick. His mouth dropped open and he began to shake his head. "No. No. You're lying. You-You're.." Ed's words trailed off, already knowing Dmitri had no way of knowing that was his name he just said.

Suddenly everything felt too close and Edward felt like he couldn't breathe. "Oh, God." He walked away from Dmitri and back to the table, desperately trying to usher away the tears that threatened to form in his eyes. "Oh, God. Oh, God." He felt his chest constrict and suddenly he was panting for every breath. Ed tried to close his eyes to clear his mind, but images of Oswald weak, broken and crying in the street, calling out for _him_ , manifested behind his lids. One hand gripped the edge of the table as he doubled over and dry heaved, he knew he would be vomiting if he had eaten anything in the past days. He picked himself back up and continued to shake his head again, vision beginning to blur.

_My name was the last thing on Oswald's lips as he died._

"No. No. No, no, no, no, no no no, nonononononono."

_He died thinking of me. He died thinking I hated him, thinking I wanted him dead, thinking I didn't love him._

Everything felt like it was crashing in on Ed.

_Oh, God._

_Oswald had walked the streets searching for me. He was crying for me. This is all my fault. Oswald's dead because of me. I killed my best friend. All my fault. All my fault._

Ed's breathing came in quick, short breathes. He stared at his table full of toys, trying to bring himself out of his thoughts. Without thinking he grabbed one at random, a sharp simple dagger, then rushed back to Mikhailov who was twisting in pain. Edward forced his dagger down into the middle of his thigh, intently listening as the Russian once again began to scream and curse in agony. His mind cleared itself of thoughts of Oswald crying and screaming, all replaced by the cries and screams of the man in front of him. Encouraged, Ed gripped the knife and roughly dragged it up the thigh, Dmitri howling and jerking in response. Suddenly, Ed jerked the knife out. He watched as the once grey boxers were stained a dark, almost black, red. The dagger dripped, Mikhailov sobbed. Staring at the finger stuck in his left eye, Edward was reminded of his hand. Without removing his gaze from Mikhailov's face, he stabbed the dagger into his left hand. He scarcely heard the bones crush beneath the Russian's shouts.

Edward exhaled a heavy breath as his bloody hand reached for Dmitri's face, grasping his jaw and forcing him to look back at him. "I had wanted to have _so much_ more fun with you than this. I wanted to take things slow, make this last. I had so many plans for you. Unfortunately, it seems I ruined things." He gestured to his blood soaked leg. "You're going to bleed out soon. Your death is much closer than either of us wanted. Sorry. But don't worry, you'll still be conscious when I remove that hand." Ed patted his cheek as he straightened himself and turned back to the table.

"Pl-Please. Please. Please. Don't do th-this. Please." Dmitri halfheartedly choked out the words, sobs interfering."

Edward ignored him as he picked out his tools; a jagged hand saw and a curved talon knife. He stuck the knife in his back pocket as he carried the saw back.

When he returned to Dmitri he was still begging through his tears. This all would have been much more enjoyable if only the Russian had kept his mouth shut. But now the act was devoid of the pleasure it had when he began.

He ripped his dagger out of the hand and dropped it to the floor. Without bothering to listen to Dmitri's pleas, he settled the metal just above his wrist and brutally began to dig into the skin. Flesh and nerves were ripped apart, bones crunched against the pressure, Dmitri cried out hopelessly, blood poured out and smeared in response. _Back and forth, back and forth, crunch, shriek,_ the sounds became music to Ed's ears. Finally the saw connected with the arm of the chair. The free hand twitched and flopped onto the ground in response. A smile reappeared on Ed's face and he let out a chuckle. He watched as the hand responsible for Oswald's death lay limp and detached on the floor. Then he returned his gaze to Dmitri whose head lay limp to the side. His eyes were beginning to flutter shut when his body suddenly began to jerk and thrash around. His face twitched and intangible sounds began spilling from his mouth. _Great_. Ed recognized he was having what appeared to be a stroke.

"That's cheating." He grumbled out as he retrieved the curved talon from his pocket. He clutched Dmitri's hair and forced him to look up at him, knife pressing against his throat.

"Where did you shoot him? Where did the bullet enter Oswald?" Dmitri didn't respond, life fading from his body. "Oh come on." Ed growled out.

He shut his eyes and tried to remember what the group of lackeys had said.

_Come on, come on._

_Not a head shot, but still fatal._

_Come on..._

_The chest?_

_Right through his heart._

_That sounded correct._

He reopened his eyes. "Through his chest? Did you aim for the heart?" Again, Dmitri only let out heavy moans.

"Whatever." Ed settled on his answer, choosing the believe what he had.

And with that, he drove the claw shaped knife right into Dmitri's heart. The man coughed and gasped out. Ed pulled the knife back out, then shoved it in again, then again and again. Blood climbed it's way up Dmitri's throat and he coughed it out on Ed, who still had a hold on his hair. With one final stab, Dmitri sputtered and choked, then his body went limb under Ed's hands, eyes rolling back as the life faded from him.

Covered in blood and breathless, Edward pulled his knife out and stepped behind him. He stared at the bloody mess as he tried to catch his breath.

"On the bright side, your family wont have to buy you a coffin."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next week of Edward's life is one of the worst. His every waking moment is plagued by guilt, remorse, loneliness. He felt lost. In everything he did (or _tried_ to do, most days he couldn't be bothered to drag himself out of bed) it was obvious that something was missing. More accurately, _someone_ was missing. He had fallen into a hopeless state of depression which he couldn't imagine escaping from. Last time he had felt this intense level of grief and sorrow he at least had had Oswald by his side looking after him. This time he was on his own.

But that was all when he was awake. When he wasn't? Nightmares tormented him every time he dared to fall unconscious. He dreamed of things that had him retching when he woke up; Oswald calling for Ed all alone in the dark, Oswald covered in wounds and gashes as he cried for Ed, Oswald bleeding out under Ed's hands, Oswald's bloodied face reminding Ed he needs him, Oswald staining Ed's clothes as he clutches onto him and tells him he loves him, Oswald lying on the ground as Ed relentlessly beats him, unable to stop himself. Every time he closes his eyes he sees it all over and over again.

The most vivid dream Ed has takes place at the docks, the last place he saw Oswald. He's pointing the gun at Oswald, who's tied up and standing at the edge. Everything is exactly the same as when it happened. They exchange words, the same words as before. Except for one small change.

Oswald doesn't apologize. He doesn't express any form of regret for his actions. He doesn't tell Ed he's sorry. What's said instead rings so clear in Ed's ears he _swears_ it's more than just a dream.

_"Say something."_

_Ed complies. "I loved her, Oswald. And you killed her."_

_Then he pulls the trigger._

The gunshot sounds so real Ed can still hear it when he wakes up. He can still see Oswald's face as his stomach leaks out blood, the look of such raw pain and heartbreak _too real_ for Ed to forget. He _swears_ he can feel the material of Oswald's suit when he grabs it and pushes him into the lake. Oswald reaches out for Ed as he sinks to the bottom, eyes locked on his. Edward wants to scream, wants to jump in after him, but he never does. No matter how hard he tries to move he can't. The dream plays out exactly the same every time. Ed does nothing but stare back at his dying friend and lets out a heavy breath. The gun is still warm in his hand when he walks away.

This nightmare is the worst of them all because it feels less like a dream and more like a memory. And then there's the docks, the most painful reminder of when he last saw Oswald. If only he knew that would be the last time. If only he had the chance to say goodbye.

If only he could see him again, just once. He would do anything for the opportunity to tell him everything he left unsaid. All the things he wish he had said -- the things he _should_ have said -- burning at the back of his mind. He _needs_ to see Oswald again.

But he can't, and these dreams only serve as a painful reminder of this. So he turns to high-dosage caffeine pills. Drugs so strong they force his short circuiting mind to stay awake until everything comes crashing into itself and he passes out in the middle of the kitchen.

Does it do more harm than good? Of course. Does that matter? Definitely not.

After all, depending on drugs to keep his mind sane isn't as bad as it may sound.

  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Swimming in darkness. The feeling of nothing enveloping everything. All sense unused and underwhelmed. Heart pumping, brain idle. The state of existing without conscious.

This is how Oswald lived for the next several weeks.

Sometimes he feels himself waking up. For a moment he can feel his thoughts stir, can feel his nerves twitch beneath the skin, can see the light come into view. Can feel the pain surrounding his reality. Without knowing why, he pushes away from this existence. He refuses to wake up.

Other times he can feel himself slipping away. Suddenly the darkness becomes a little darker, the feeling of nothing is replaced by a cold touch, his faint heart grows fainter. Death beckons, tempts him to give up. Without knowing why, he pushes back. He refuses to let go.

He can't remember how he ended up this way. What put him in this unconscious state?

He's forgotten his reason to keep fighting. Why does he bother hanging on?

He has no idea where he is. Is he even alive anymore?

Even if he knew all these things and had the answers to his questions it probably wouldn't make a difference. He's more than content to keep up this battle against both the light and the dark. Rejecting life while simultaneously refusing death; a war waging on both sides.

He'll keep this up as long as he has to. He's not ready to wake up yet. He wants to stay in this grey area. He want's to remain nothing.

Is it doing more harm than good? Maybe. Does that matter? Of course not.

After all, depending on someone else to keep his heart beating isn't as scary as it may sound.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
In times of crisis and desperation, people often turn to drugs. Its almost human nature to go to extreme lengths to escape pain.

Everyone has their own drug, whether they like it or not. Something that (in some way or another) is bad for them but (for one reason or another) they just can't quit.

Caffeine, love, methamphetamine; they're all drugs.

Edward's drug of choice is a hallucinogen in the form of a small, white pill.

The first few times are the hardest.

_Clink._ The opening and closing of the metal canister.

_Crunch._ The crushing of the capsule beneath his teeth.

A deep breath to prepare himself. A sip of water to wash it all down.

There's ringing in his ears, his eyes dilate and flash.

And then he's there, standing right in front of Ed.

The first time, Edward keeps his composure--for the most part.. He knows how badly this could go, so he mentally prepares himself for the first time and takes a strong sedative the night before to let his mind rest and forces himself to eat a sandwich. He sets up rules for himself to make sure everything goes smoothly; must remain brief (ten minutes at max), avoid all triggers such as talk of guns or love, no crying or laughing, remain sitting the entire time, and keep a distance of five feet at all times.

When he appears, Oswald takes his breath away, truly. He's taken Ed's breath away many times, due to amazement, wonder, adoration, reverence, astonishment. This time however, it's due to horror.

Every inch of him has been ruined. His face is a constellation of scattered cuts and bruises. His left eye is bruised beyond belief, a greedy swirl of blues and purples that would almost remind Edward of a galaxy if it weren't for the splash of red coming from a cut right on his eyebrow. On his right side lays an extensive gash that runs at a vertical slant from the top of his cheekbone down. An unending stream of blood flows from the slit. His lips are swollen and red from dried cuts. His prominent nose is broken, slightly more crooked than usual, the left nostril a stream of smeared blood. His usually styled hair now disarranged. His impressive wardrobe torn, dirty, and stained with his own blood. Then there's his stomach blood pouring from where the bullet entered.

Edward is thankful he's sitting and especially thankful he's five feet away. However, he's not quite as thankful for the sandwich he ate early as nausea gnaws at his stomach.

He tries to open his mouth to speak but he's unable to move. What would he even say? His mind is blank, everything he had prepared to say chased away by the sight before him.

Oswald speaks instead. His voice is eerily calm for his current state.

"There you are, Edward. I was looking for you.”

Ed’s stomach heaves, causing him to double over and vomit his lunch all over his lap. He tries to raise his head again but Oswald’s words echo in his and he drops his head and returns to retching. Working as a forensic scientist at the GCPD and a recent murderer, Ed’s stomach is able to handle gruesome sights but it’s hardly the sight of Oswald that’s causing his stomach to give out. No, it’s the emotional weight and guilt that comes with it that’s making him sick to his stomach.

When he finally regains the strength and self-control needed to look up again, Oswald is gone. It was only five minutes, but Ed is glad it’s over. He returns to his bedroom and strips himself of his ruined clothes. He considers taking a shower, knows he should take one, but instead chooses to lay in his bed and replay the recent scene over and over again, analyzing every single detail he can remember.

-

  
The second time isn’t much better, but at least he doesn’t vomit on himself again. He does, however, break half of his rules.

The first rule is broken when Oswald appears on the couch next to Ed. Memories of a certain night pass through his mind and he unconsciously finds himself scooting farther away.

"Oswald," Ed says. He clears his throat, drops his gaze down to his lap, re-adjusts how his glasses are sitting on his face, stalls until his mind can find something to follow up.

"Edward," Oswald responds in a tone slightly lighter, more carefree than Ed's. He speaks as if nothing is wrong or off. "I was looking for you, but it seems that you're the one who has found me." The sentence is said casually but it sends a sharp pain to Ed's chest.

He picks his gaze back up and looks over at Oswald. He looks him over, eyes slowly traveling over his legs, up his body, then finally meeting Oswald's own stare. His eyes are as blue as ever, contrasting against the harsh reds and purples that surround them. The gruesome details only look worse this close up. Ed watches as a drip of blood trickles down Oswald's bruised lips and falls off his chin.

"You're getting blood on the couch." It's a dumb thing to say and he knows it, but it's the only thing Ed can think to say.

In return Oswald rolls his eyes. "Do I need to remind you I'm not real? The blood is all in your head, it's not real either."

Despite knowing Oswald's words are the truth, it's hard to believe them when he can clearly see the way the couch dips under Oswald's weight. He stares as the blood drips onto the couch, a new red stain appearing as it does. He opens his mouth to object but Oswald interrupts him before he has the chance.

"Is my imaginary blood _really_ what you want to talk about, Ed?" There's a sarcastic edge to his voice and Ed can't imagine how he can manage such easygoing talk when he looks like he's been hit by a truck.

"Of course not." Ed just barely manages back as his stare focuses on Oswald's abused face.

"Didn't think so." He's as smug as usual. "So, what exactly am I doing here then, Ed? If it's not my pretend 'bleeding', surely there must be something else you want to talk about."

Ed doesn't say anything, just shakes his head and looks away. What _is_ he doing here? Ed drops his head into his hands and begins to massage his temple. He didn't exactly have a game plan when he bought these pills, he just _knew_ he needed to see Oswald again. Too many things were left unsaid between the two of them, he never even had the chance to say goodbye.

He feels Oswald staring at him so he lifts his head up and opens his mouth to speak. When he looks at Oswald again, his breathe hitches and his words are caught in his throat. His heart clenches in his chest as he's once again reminded of when they sat together this exact way under other circumstances. The second rule is broken when he next speaks.

"Do you remember the night Butch attacked me? The night you saved me from his mercy....That was the same night you ever showed me any sort of physical affection. Was it also the night you fell in love with me?" He asked, soft and sincere. He searches Oswald's tainted eyes for a hint of something real and true. They don't _look_ like part of a hallucination, they look all too _real_. It's almost painful, but it's a kind of pain Ed could get drunk on.

Oswald finally drops his gaze when he responds. "That was the night you told me 'you would do anything for me'. You put your life on the line and exposed Butch for betraying me. You did all of that for me. You had already done so much for me, more than anyone had since my parents left me. I had never had a friend like you; a true friend." Oswald swallowed before he spoke again. "The day I won the election -- _genuinely_ won it, thanks to you -- that was the beginning of it all. You ignited feelings in me I didn't know I was capable of. Every moment we spent together after that only pushed me further. I had been in love with you all along, it was only _that_ night that I realized this."

Ed feels glued to his seat as he hangs on to every word Oswald says. By the time he finishes speaking Ed's heart is pounding against his chest, positively swelling with _something_. Something that's begging, clawing, desperate to get out. He feels engulfed by these emotions, wanting to act out but entirely unsure how.

"Oh, Ed," Oswald's looking at him with a look in his eyes. Is that... _pity?_ "You're too clever to be this clueless."

"Stop talking." Ed snaps back, head spinning.

" _Stop_ keeping secrets from yourself." Oswald retorts.

The third rule is broken when Ed abruptly throws himself off the couch and stands in front of Oswald.

"I don't know what you're talking about." His voice is calm, unlike how he's feeling.

_I don't know what it means._

His hands are entangled in his hair as he turns away from Oswald. He feels _so lost_. Like everything is just right out of his reach, but he doesn't even know _what_ he's reaching for.

The fourth rule is broken when he looks up at the clock. Technically it was broken twenty minutes ago. He's been talking to Oswald for half an hour. It surely didn't feel as though it had been that long. Is time loss a side effect?

As he feels his heart slow and his thoughts calm down, he turns back to face Oswald again but he's gone. Ed sighs as he stands there all alone.

-

The third time is when Edward finally breaks apart. It was only a matter a time really. Ed was like an unstable dam trying to hold back a tsunami.

He's standing when Oswald appears perched on the couch.

"You look awful." Oswald notes with a concerned expression.

He was right, Edward looked frightfully awful. He hadn't changed his clothes since he went out and bought the pills, which coincidentally was the last time he had went outside. The outfit was wrinkled and stained. He smelled outright repulsing. He hadn't showered in weeks, his body had a coat of sweat and grime covering him. His hair was greasy and clung to his skin. Unable to get a proper night of rest, the bags under his eyes were a dark purple, his eyes themselves an irritated red. His face looked sunken in. In fact, his entire body was clearly thinner than usual, bones poking out at every edge,  his eating disorder practically announcing itself. Stomach full of an emptiness that could not be filled. Despite how bad he looked, he felt worse.

Ed glared at Oswald. "Not as if you care. You can't care, you're not even real." To say he was on edge didn't even scratch the surface. He felt like he was walking on glass with everything he did, even though he spent his days doing nothing but laying vacantly. Nothing helped, but he was desperate to see Oswald even if it only worsened things. At this point he was an absolute train wreck with no desire to find stability.

"Oswald cared about you, Edward. He wouldn't want you to end up like this. Have you seen yourself? You're an absolute mess. You need to eat something. Oswald would have wanted you to take care of yourself and be happy."

He slammed a fist against his desk and jabbed a finger at his hallucination.

" _Oswald_ was a selfish bastard who only care about himself. He didn't want me to be _happy_ , he made sure of that when he killed Isabella." He spit the words out through gritted teeth, holding onto his last ounce of self restraint.

"Is _that_ really when you happiness died? Are you _still_ telling yourself that's why you're so utterly pissed with me?" Oswald matched Ed's fiery anger and spat his words right back at him.

"That is _PRECISELY_ why I'm still upset with you! The moment you ripped her out of my life was the exact moment my life went to _absolute shit! Why_ can't you get that through your _thick skull?"_ Ed shouted the words at him. He was now clenching his fist against his desk and practically vibrating with anger.

"Because both you and I know that if I were still alive and here with you things would be entirely different." Oswald's anger was relaxed and leveled, contrasting drastically against Ed's exploding rage. "If I were here, you wouldn't be taking drugs or losing sleep. If I were still in your life you wouldn't be feeling this _lost_ and sorry. _You_ wouldn't be like _this_ if I were still alive" He stepped closer, eyes staring heatedly into Ed's. "You only wanted Isabella, Ed. But you _need_ me."

This is where Ed finally felt himself snap.

_"But you're NOT here, Oswald!"_ The words tore themselves from his throat as both of his fist collide with his desk. "You're not here! You _died_ and this is all your fault. Don't talk to me about _“what ifs"_ when you ruined _everything!_ What was even the _point_ in letting you live if you were just going to turn around and get yourself killed anyway??" Ed had never been one for violence or aggression, but that didn't deter him from grabbing his desk lamp and send it hurtling across the room. Breaking things didn't help his situation, he knows this, but what else was there to do? Besides, the _crash_ that reached his ears when the glass shattered into little, itty bitty pieces was all too satisfying.

" _Christ,_ Oswald! _For fucks sake!"_ He hurled his wired telephone off the desktop and reached for a stack of office-related papers, shredding them with his bare hands as he continued to shout. Why was he still yelling? What was the point of any of this?

"I thought I could count on you! You were worth the world to me! You told me you were here for me! Yeah? _Well where the fuck are you now??_ _Huh, Oswald?? Where are you when I need you most?"_ Ed's hands trembled as his passionate rage steadily diminished. His vision was beginning to blur and his chest was heaving with every breathe.

"I'm right here, Ed." Oswald's voice cracked. When Ed looked up at him he noticed his lower lip was trembling and his same emotions were reflected back to him.

Edward dropped the papers in his hands and closed the distance between the two of them with three long strides. When he was standing infront of Os, eyes locked together, Edward gingerly lifted his hand to stroke the smaller mans face. He felt vacant and aimless as his hand passed right through the others skin. He barely acknowledged Oswald's own hand ghosting against Ed's raised one. His skin looked transparent as Ed reached for him.

"No you're not." Ed's words came out broken. He gently shook his head as tears spilled down his cheeks. "You're gone, Oswald."

Oswald broke the stare and closed his eyes.

Despite the lack of touch Ed kept his hand hovering over his best friend's cheek, purely imagining his warm skin beneath his fingertips.

"I once believed in fate. I thought it was f-fate that had brought us together. Was it also fate that tore us apart? Can we blame this all on fate? Were we just destined to b-break each other?" He whispered the words, sobs racking his body as he attempted-- and failed-- to move Oswald's hair out of his beautiful battered eyes.

The hallucination looked back up at Ed, his own tears glazing his gaze. He offered a pitiful smile as he spoke again. "If it's worth anything, I wouldn't have wanted to be broken by anyone else."

"Neither would I." Ed sobbed out his reply then dropped himself into Oswald's arms just as he had hundreds of times before. Only this time Oswald wasn't there to hold him. Instead, he vanished as Edward's knees hit the wooden ground with a dull thud, leaving him to heave out his sobs alone on the floor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, the chapter title is after the song The Night We Met -- Lord Huron.
> 
> Right, so a lot happened in this chapter. I'm not really good at determining when to end/begin chapters, I'm still new at this. 
> 
> I had to google some weird things to be able to write that torture scene (like; what does stabbing an eyeball sound like? spoiler alert, nobody knows). The original torture scene was a looooottt longer and involved actual torture buuutt I decided it was too much and dialed it back. 
> 
> I don't know if I'm any good at writing angst but I enjoy doing it so lemme know if I did a good job in the comments <3


	5. Leaving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are ignored as Ed searches for his way forward.  
> Oswald refuses to wake up.
> 
> The parallel to episode 15, 'How The Riddler Got His Name'

  
Ed is curled up on the couch blankly watching the television when the idea comes to him. The news is on and they're doing an interview with Brandon Fitzgerald, a prominent philosopher in Gotham. He's prattling on and on about wisdom and 'thinking outside the box' when he says something that finally perks Ed's interest.

He's responding to a question from the news anchor when he says;

"I believe the most influential part of my life has been other people. I fully believe that the people you surround yourself with --the ones closest to you-- shape you into who you will become. Guidance is an important necessity in everyone life; Guidance will lead the way."

_Guidance._

The wheels in Edward's head begin turning as the word repeats in his head. He finds himself sitting up and leaving the couch before he knows where he's going.

He rushes over to his desk, grabbing paper and pens, then heads to the dinning table. He grabs the latest newspaper as he passes by. When he finally reaches the table, he drops all his items onto it and reaches into his pocket for his small canister. Quickly he pops a pill into his mouth, choosing to forgo water as he chews and swallows. He doesn't wait for Oswald to appear, instead already scribbling out plans on his blank paper.

"What are you doing?" Oswald's sitting at a chair across from where Ed's standing. Ed doesn't bother to look up or answer.

"Did you want me here just so you could ignore me?" Ed startles when Oswald's voice now comes from behind him. He tosses a glance over his shoulder to see Oswald now standing there, peering over him and at his work. Ed pays no attention to him and continues to write.

"What is all this? What exactly are you scheming here?" Oswald's standing at Ed's side, glare darting from him and his papers as he tries to make sense of what's happening in front of him.

" _Guidance_. Don't you see? I'm lost, Oswald. I need _guidance_. It's so obvious, I just need someone to guide me." Finally he responds to Oswald, giddy and gesturing to his notes as if they were the only things that made sense in the world.

"Ed, what are you talking about? Guide you to where exactly?" Oswald was still completely confused.

"No, not like an actual--It's more in a metaphorical sense." He takes a breathe and stops writing, facing Oswald at last. " _You_ were my guide, Oswald. I needed you around to teach me how to become greater, that's the whole reason I didn't shoot you at the docks. Yes, I still need you but I don't really need _you_. I just need to find myself a new mentor. It's all so clear now." Ed flashed a giddy smile as he resumed writing.

Oswald shook his head, doubt covering the hallucinations features. "That is not true and you know it. Oswald was so much more than just a mentor to you." He slapped his hand onto the table, urging Ed to look at him. "I am the bestest friend you've ever had. I was more than just a means to an end, I meant something to you. _That's_ why you _couldn't_ kill me."

Ed shakes his head in denial of Oswald's words as he opens the newspaper. "I strangled the love of my life to death with my bare hands. She meant everything to me and that didn't stop me."

"Her murder was an accident!" Oswald shouted at him.

"That didn't stop me from enjoying cutting her body into compact pieces!" Ed shouts right back at him.

"Stop changing the subject. You can't keep denying the truth like this."

"For once, this isn't about you Oswald." Ed snaps, tearing a piece of the newspaper as he tries to turn the page.

"This is exactly about me and you know it!" Oswald squawked back as Ed paid more attention to the article than him. When he didn't respond, Oswald grew more irritated--well, as irritated as a fictional, drug induced hallucination can be. "What are you searching for?" He questions as Ed flips through the pages, occasionally circling or jotting things down.

"I already told you; my new mentor." Ed grumbles out, not bothering to look over at Oswald.

"Ed, this is ridiculous. You don't need a new mentor, you need Oswald. I know you've always had strange ways of grieving and dealing with your feelings but believe me when I tell you this is not how you should be handling my death. You need to stop running and face your feelings." Oswald's voice had lost the edge it had before, firm sincerity laced across everything he said. This only proved to infuriate Ed further.

He slammed both of his hands onto the wooden surface. Open palms turned to fists as he crumpled the paper beneath his palms.

"I don't need you! And I'll prove it. I will replace you with someone smarter and greater than you ever were! Someone who can teach me and lead the way _without falling in love."_ He spat the last of the sentence at Oswald's face.

Oswald's face scrunched up with fury but he manages to stand his ground. "You can't replace me like you did with your bimbo sweethearts, Ed. I made you into who you are. Nobody can take my place. _Nobody_ can ever compare to _me."_ He hissed, standing dangerously close to Edward as he did so.

"That's _enough!!"_ Ed practically roared out, grabbing a fistful of his papers and flinging them at Oswald. When the parchment falls to the floor and things settle, Ed notices Oswald is nowhere to be found. He sighs and fix how his glasses are sitting on his face before he stoops down to gather his notes.

He wouldn't let his hallucinated counterpart deter him from this. These past weeks he's felt completely adrift at sea, finally it feels like he see's the shore. He would move forward and nothing could stop him. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edward sat outside in his car, keeping an eye on a certain lit window from across the street. The window sat on the second level of a generously lavish home located just on the skirts of the city.

Being that this was now the fourth time going through this exact same scenario, nerves no longer ate at him as he waited. He removed his stare from the window to glance down at his records once more.

_Who: Spencer Reynolds, 29 year old male_

_Occupation: Highly esteemed author in Gotham_

_Achievements: Youngest writer to have received 11 different awards in the span of 5 years. Consecutive winner of Gotham's Most Excellent Writer. Already has published numerous novels and magazine articles. Nearing the top of the list of Gotham's Best Sellers._

_Notes: Exceedingly admired and respected by all. He has come to be a household name in the homes of Gotham's finest. To say he's confident would be a downplay. Several of his articles and interviews lead me to believe he has a narcissistic personality disorder (scribbled out: shouldn't be a problem considering how self absorbed Oswald could be sometimes)_

When Ed looks back up he notices that there was now light shining from the window he had been watching. That was his cue to take action.

Cautiously, Ed grabbed his brief case, opened his car door, then slips down the dimly lit street. When he reaches the front door he pulls out two thin pins and adeptly picks the lock open. Once he makes his way inside, he soundlessly hastens over to a keypad located on the left wall in the front room. He enters the code that would shut off the silent alarms. He held his breathe as he waited for confirmation that it worked. When the digital words _correct_ flashed across the screen, Ed felt himself grin. Suitcase in tow, he turns to the kitchen, only having approximately 10 minutes left to prepare.

Ed hadn't ever been much for 'fancy' interior design, that was much more of Oswald's interests. However, as he made his way through the house, he could tell Mr. Reynolds must have put in great effort into the decorating part of this place. Several statues and paintings stood proudly, calling for attention as Ed passed them.

Ed had only spent two days trailing Mr.Reynolds but it was more than enough to gather all the information he needed on him. Every detail he had needed he had easily found in various interviews and writings done by the man; he really had a knack for talking about himself. Edward had learned that Spencer lived alone and thrived off routine. Every other day at approximately 10:30 pm the writer took his nightly shower, then when he was finished he would come downstairs around 11 pm for a 'midnight' snack. Via stalking Ed discovered that Spencer's home servants get off work and leave for home at 9 pm sharp. He also discovered the pass-code to all of Reynolds accounts and devices was 0420, his birthday. (April 20th)

A glance to his watch told Ed it was now 10:57. Only a few moments left. Casually he shrugs out of his jacket and lays it across one of the counter stools. He places his suit case on top of it, hoping he wouldn't need it. Finally, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his small pistol, blood racing through him at the thought of what was to come next.

When he heard the tell-tale sound of a bedroom door opening then slamming shut, Edward hastily flicked the kitchen lights off and positioned himself in a corner. Readjusting his gloved grip on the gun, he raised it to his chest and silently waited. Eager for the fun the start, he couldn't tell the difference between the footsteps stomping their way down the stairs and the blood pounding in his ears.

Reynolds entered the kitchen singing, very loudly and off-key.

" _Oooooooh Peggy, my Peggy Sueeeeee. Ooh well, I looove you gal and I need youu Peggy S_ -SHIT JESUS FUCK WHO THE _FUCK ARE YOU??_ " His obnoxious singing soon turned to obnoxious screaming after he flipped the lights back on.

Despite the unpleasant noise, Ed's smile stays glued to his face. He waves the hand that was clutching the weapon, making sure it was known that he was armed.

"Greetings, Mr. Reynolds. Screaming wont do you any good, we're all alone. Have a seat." He gestured to one of the nearby stools.

Spencer eyed Edward as he cautiously crossed the room and sat down. "Don't tell me, you're another whackjob fan, aren't you? What do you want, an autograph? Piece of my hair?"

Finally, Edward's smile falls from his face and his eyebrows furrow together.

"What? No. In fact, I'm here to give you something; a question." He regains his playful attitude and claps his hands together. "I can fill a room or just one heart. Others may have me, but I cannot be shared. What am I?" He ends his riddle with a dramatic gesture to the writer, who merely looked un-amused.

"Is this some kind of joke? You broke into my home to play word games with me?" If he was afraid, his voice wasn't giving it away.

Ed rolled his eyes, frustrations growing rapidly. "It's a riddle, just answer it."

"Do I look like a child to you? I don't do _'riddles'._ " His tone was mocking and doing nothing to help keep Ed calm.

"If it's so _'childish'_ then you should be able to come up with the answer _easily."_ Ed's words bit right back, expressing he was in no mood to be disrespected like this.

"I refuse to." Mr. Reynolds raises his head in defiance and Ed suddenly felt it was very difficult to resist the urge to pull the trigger and be done with this.

" _Loneliness_. The answer is _loneliness_." Ed took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. Three riddles, those were his rules and he had to stick to them.

"Clearly something you have plenty of considering you don't have friends of your own you can bother with these _riddles_.” Spencer once again mocked Ed and he feels his self-restraint snap. Both men are slightly caught off guard when the barrel of Edward’s gun is swiftly cocked and shoved against the celebrity's forehead.

“Listen, _Mr. Reynolds_ ,” Ed’s voice was seething with distaste as a spoke. “I don’t think you’re understanding how this works. I’m going to ask you a few riddles. If you manage to get one of them right, _ding_ , then we wont have any problems. And, well, if you don’t...” He drags the cold metal down the side of the fearful mans face. “let's just say neither of us will be very happy. Got it?”

Reynolds swallows a lump in his throat and meekly chokes out “Got it.”

"Goodie, now hold still." His giddy attitude returned as he pops open his suitcase, grabbing one of several long ropes and securing Reynolds to his seat.

“Okay! Then where were we? Oh, right.” He made another dramatic gesture before reciting, “I can be a member of a group, but I can never blend in. What am I?”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, searching for the answer in his mind. “Uhmm....Words! Words.” His answer came out with full confidence which soon faltered when Ed let out a groan.

“ ‘Words’, really? Are you really so dense you can’t think outside your comfort zone?” Anger flared inside of Ed, but it was soon replaced with regret. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to clear his head. This was no way to be treating a candidate. “I apologize.” Deep breath. “I’m not myself these days.”

“Oh, so holding people hostage and threatening them with puerile riddles isn’t a normal thing for you?” Again, with that infuriating attitude, as if _he’s_ the one in control.

Although he knows the question was rhetorical, he replies in an equally sarcastic tone. “No.”

“Then why are you doing this? What do you want from me? I’m used to unhinged fans but this is beyond reasonable.”

“I’m not a _fan."_ This man was truly getting on his nerves. "My best friend recently died.....He was beat and shot to death in the streets. He was a sort of guide to me on my journey, and one of the last things he said to me was that there was no me without him....And now that there's no more him....Well, where does that leave me?" His victim sat tied and clearly not comprehending what Ed was trying to say."You see, I know who I am, Mr. Reynolds. It's how to be him that is eluding me. I seek a new guide."

"Soo......You're doing _all_ this because you want _me_ to....to be your counselor?" The dumbfounded look on the authors face was enough to tell Ed this partnership was not going to work out.

"Were you even listening? This isn't about you. You're only one of the many candidates I've interviewed. Although, you have by far been the most exasperating one."

A blow to the ego, Spencer's kyrptonite. "Who else have you subjected to this maltreatment?"

"Oh, you'd know them." Edward absentmindedly walked around the room as he spoke. "The first one was Brandon Fitzgerald, Gotham's finest philosopher. Then there was the artist. Then a curator." He exhaled heavily as he reflected back on the many who had disappointed him. "The stars of Gotham's intellectual and artistic constellation. Fallen stars now."

"Brandon Fitzgerald.....didn't he die?" Spencer's voice quivered, _finally_ a display of his fears.

Ed unexpectedly claps his hands together, the loud noise causing Mr.Reynolds to startle. It brought a smile to his face. "That he did, Mr. Reynolds. As did all the others. And so will you if you don't answer my next riddle correctly." Cruel smile, then the reciting. "I feel your every move, I know your every thought, I'm with you from birth, and I'll see you when you rot." Staring the author down as he drawls out the last words. " _What am I?"_

The author thrashed against his restraint and snarled at Ed. "I _refuse_ to play this sadistic game of yours. You can't kill me, I'm an important man in this city! My death will bring about an uprising! You will be hunted down." He's practically foaming at the mouth. His veins strain against his forehead and his face is red, but Ed can see the fear that lies beneath it all.

Edward seizes a handful of hair and jams the barrel of his gun into his victims mouth.

"I feel your every move, I know your every thought, I'm with you from birth, and I'll see you when you rot." He slowly hisses the words out and cocks the gun. "Answer the riddle." He pulls the pistol out so Spencer can do so but it remains close to his face.

He's whimpering now, pitifully trying to hold back sobs. "I d-don't....Hair?? oh god, I don't...."

A cheshire like grin spreads across Edward's face as he leaves the authors side, retreating to his brief case. He pulls out a single piece of thick rope and begins to knot it. He can hear Mr. Reynold cry and whimper behind him, he takes his time enjoying the noise.

"I confess, I was hoping you'd get it wrong." Spencer sobs and Ed comes to stand in front of him. He loops the noose around his prey's neck and pulls it tighter than necessary. "I'm truly going to enjoy killing you."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 _Crunch._ The pill is crushed against Edward's teeth. A sip of tea washes it all down. The high pitched ringing begins once more. He takes a deep breath as the drug takes it effect.

He turns around, and he's no longer alone. Oswald's spread across the couch, a cocky smile already plastered on his face.

"You're bleeding on the couch again. We went over this." He knows it's irrational, but so is taking these pills in the first place and that doesn't stop him.

"You are the only person I know who frets about his drug-induced hallucination making a mess. But if it makes you happy." Despite Edward's bitching, Oswald keeps smiling and heaves himself off the couch. Both men are drawn towards one another until they're facing each other. As always, Ed feels the itching urge to reach out and touch Oswald, hold him, feel him in some way. To restrain himself he clasps his hands together in front of him.

"Thank you." It's sincere, but that wont matter to his hallucination.

"I wonder how long til the public replaces me as mayor." A street rat crawls its way out of Oswald's jacket and onto his shoulder. Unable to handle all the reminders of the fact that Oswald is dead, Ed drops his head and concentrates on his breathing. _Ten, nine, eight, seven...._

Oswald chuckles as he shoo's the imaginary rat off of himself. "Speaking of replacements."

Ed looked back up at Oswald, but he was gone in the very next moment. Ed looks to his sides, fearing he had left when he hears, "How many are we up to now? Five? Six?"

Oswald is in Ed's work room, inspecting Ed's notes and plans. He rushes to his hallucinations side as he continues to speak.

"There was the curator, the writer (pretentious ass)." Edward's hallucination voiced his annoyance as the reminder popped up.

"So frustrating." He bit his lip as he stared at the disappointments in front of him, behind him Oswald mimicked the action. "They all fit the profile. High I.Q., driven, creative." He growled out as he grabbed his marker, crossing out yet another face. "Yet each one disappointed me."

"A killing spree just to find someone who can compare to me. Funny the lengths you have to go to when it comes to me. Perhaps you should ditch the riddles." Blood dripped down Oswald's face as he bit the words out.

"This isn't about you. I need someone who can solve my riddles. A good riddle reveals the asker. To solve it is to solve the mystery of the person posing it. If I can find someone to solve them, I can find someone to help me." How did Oswald still not understand this?

The two men stood dangerously close now, less than a foot apart, both glaring daggers into the others eyes.

"Do you really think you're going to find someone who can _replace_ _me_ and teach you how to be a villain?"

"Yes! Of course I am. You said yourself there is no Edward Nygma without the Penguin." There faces were only inches apart now, vexation displayed on both faces. Ed took a step back before speaking again. "But knowing who I am and knowing how to be him....those are separate things."

"Ed, villains do not have teachers!" Oswald's shouting causes Ed's face to drop, but what he said next sent his mind turning. "I made myself into the Penguin when I threw Fish Mooney off a building. I didn't have anyone's help."

"Oh, how interesting. Perhaps I'm thinking about this all wrong." He stares blankly at a wall as everything fell into place.

"Obviously." Oswald vanished then materialized in a chair behind Edward.

"I don't need a teacher."

 _Finally_ , Ed was going to start thinking clearly now and face the tru-

"I need an enemy"

Or not.

"No, that is not-- this is about _you_ and _me_ \--" He tried to fix things and defend his stance but Ed interjected before he had the change.

"The greatest villains have always been defined by the men that try to stop them! And I know the perfect man." The pieces were finally all coming together. This was _perfect_.

"Please, do not say--" Oswald was back on his feet and once again they were much too close.

"Jim Gordon." Oswald's eyes snapped shut as the name passed through his lips. Edward was more delusional than either of them were prepared for.

When his eyelids flicked back open, there was an unidentified emotion floating within the icy blue.

"Oh, Ed." Oswald breathed out as he reached for Ed's tie.

However, rather than grabbing hold of it like the real him would, he merely vanished instead.

Ed took a deep breath as he registered the others absence.

Whatever. The penny had dropped. Oswald's loss if he couldn't see the _cents_ in it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

  
With Oswald by his side, Ed peers over the balcony railing and comments on the chess games unfolding before them. It's obvious neither of them care about what's happening below, not yet at least, but Ed talks anyway to keep his mind occupied. He feels tense, his nerves all on edge. However he doesn't feel anxious -- he has full confidence in his plan, all the wires and shockers are set up, the singing fruit should be arriving at the GCPD on time, everything is in place -- nor does he feel excited.

There's something gnawing at his mind, clawing at his heart, absolutely eating him alive and demanding for attention. But it's all beneath the surface, where Ed would like to keep it. He refuses to acknowledge these feelings, instead choosing to ridicule the chess games beneath him.

"Can we discuss why you're doing this?" But of course his hallucination isn't as content with avoidance as he is.

Ed's eyes are immediately on him now. "I've told you why." He growls out as a warning.

"The real reason." Naturally his drug-induced friend ignores his warning. Ed looks away hoping Oswald will get the message to just drop it.

But does he? Nooo, of course not. He sets his imaginary bag of popcorn down and leans unnecessarily close to Ed's side.

"See, Ed, the trouble with talking to projections of your psyche--" Small chuckle.  
"and you of all people should know this-- is that they know everything you know."

Ed finally works the nerve to look at Oswald again. Despite the playfulness of his voice, his eyes are serious and sincere.

His voice soon reflects this, dropping the friendly tone and growing more earnest with each word.

"Including the things you're trying not to know." They stare, eyes locked on each other until Oswald is suddenly gone.

Is that really all he had to say? Disappointment and relief swirl in Edward's chest, he tries to exhale both out. Then suddenly Oswald's voice is at his ear again, on his other side this time.

"Gordon can't help you. No one can." As Oswald continues Ed feels his mouth go dry. He feels defenseless as he stares into those deep, profound, _beautiful_ eyes. "Face the truth."

Eyes glued to Oswald, Ed barely whispers his reply. "But why? What's the point, Oswald?"

Oswald doesn't reply, silently persuading Ed to continue. So he does.

"You're _dead_ , Oswald. How I _feel_ , it doesn't matter anymore. I was too late. Even if I confessed.....If I face the truth or not, it wont make a difference. You're gone and you're not coming back. I was too late." Edward's voice begins to crack, his hands tremble. Oswald's bruised face has softened and _oh_ how desperately Ed wishes he could touch him. "I was too late, and I'm so sorry. It's my fault you're dead, it's all my fault. If only I had known these things sooner then you would still be here with me and neither of us would have suffered this torment."

Edward forgets where he is, forgets what he's suppose to be doing, forgets the entire plan. Right now it's just him and Oswald; him and those encapsulating, virtuous eyes.

"Just say it Edward. _Say it._ Tell me how you feel." Edward swallows thickly. He can feel himself drowning into Oswald's gaze.

"Oswald, I....I..." He exhales. "I can't. I have to put that all behind me now. I'm moving forward and my feelings will no longer hold me back."

Oswald breaks their stare and looks at the entrance with a heavy sigh. Edward keeps staring at Oswald's profile, eyes trailing along all the small cuts and bruises with a heavy heart.

"Be careful, Ed. If you keep going down this path.....If you stay like this any longer, there's no telling if you can come back from this."

As if on cue, the heavy doors fly open and in storm the GCPD. Ed takes his eyes off Oswald for one moment to acknowledge their new company. When he looks back to his side Oswald is gone. He turns, scans the rest of the area and confirms that he's truly gone.

His words echo in his head.

_'There's no telling if you can come back from this'_

\------------------------------------------

  
It's hard to keep track of time when you're unconscious. It's been exactly nineteen days since Oswald went missing, two weeks and five days, but to him no time has passed at all.

By now the rumors of Oswald's murder had reached the people of Gotham, and more and more of them were beginning to believe it to be true. It was only a matter of time until he was replaced as mayor and declared deceased. His house servants had already left and found employment elsewhere. Everyone was moving on without him. The only person who seemed to carry the memory of Oswald was Edward.

Not that Oswald knew any of this, of course. Nothing could reach him when he was in this deep of sleep.

He knows he should wake up soon. His body has grown tired of sleeping. Is that even possible? To grow weary of an activity that consists of resting? _Wake up, wake up,_ his body urges him. It's like an itch that's dying to be scratched.

His mind, on the other hand, has different plans. It keeps insisting he's not ready to wake up, it's much to soon, there's still so much rest that is needed.

In reality, both sides are right. Ivy has taken good enough care of him that he's no longer teetering on the edge of death; the lesion left by the bullet isn't fully healed but it's no longer fatal, he has a mild fever but it's being kept under control, all cuts and abrasions have been cleaned and bandaged. She was even kind enough to rid him of his ruined clothes and dress him in a much comfier outfit.

However, despite her attentive care, if Oswald were to become active again it's an easy possibility his injuries could worsen. Ivy isn't exactly a doctor, so all it would take is one forceful stretch to reopen his stomach and bring blood rushing back out.

All this aside, his current state of health isn't why Oswald refuses to come round. The truth is, his fear is holding him back. Subconsciously, Oswald is terrified to wake up. He doesn't feel ready to face what is waiting for him when he wakes up, and even if he was prepared he still wouldn't want to. Before he was left for dead in the streets, his best friend held him at gun point, he ruined his reputation when he had a breakdown on live TV, his crime and political kingdoms were crumbling apart, all in all his life was coming apart at the seams. This wasn't exactly a reality anyone would want to face.

All he wants is to sleep and hid from his troubles.

But still, Os knows he should keep his guard up.

If he keeps refusing to wake up.....If he stays like this any longer, there's no telling if he'll be able to come back from this.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Edward stares down at the table before him as Oswald once again tries to force doubt into his mind.

"How will anyone sleep knowing the _Chess Killer's_ on the loose?" His delusion taunts him.

"It's just a name dreamed up by some hack." He pushes his words aside and fixes his shirt. "Today will change everything."

"This is a mistake, what you're doing." Oswald leans forward practically trying to force his words onto Ed.

"I don't recall asking you." Ed snaps back and turns to his side.

Oswald continues to argue his point. "I showed you how to be Ed Nygma. _This_ is not who you are. What you are planning is madness."

"No. It's a way forward." Ed across to table and stares back at Oswald. He's not backing down, not this time. "I am redefining who I am whether you like it or not."

Ed takes a step back from the table and focuses on gathering his items rather than paying attention to Oswald. He almost wonders why he keeps taking the pills if all they do is bicker, but he really doesn't need to wonder when he knows why.

"Ed, you are not sleeping, you are not eating," Just as stubborn as Ed, Oswald refuses to drop it. "You are taking drugs. You are having a conversation with your dead friend." Oswald's voice rises with every word but Ed simply turns his back to him and grabs his jacket. "Just admit how you feel and that you are lost without me or you will destroy everything!"

"I'm leaving now." Ed speaks through clenched teeth as he shrugs his jacket on.

Oswald stares at him in silence. Thinking he had won and this conversation was over, relief filled Edward.

That is, until he hears the scratching of a record player and perceives a sudden red light flooding the room.

When he looks up Oswald is no longer standing directly in front of him but a few feet away. He had his back to Ed, the gentle red light framing his figure. As Oswald spun around Ed's heart began to race. He looked.... _beautiful_. He was as elegant and perfect as he had been before Ed began to torment his life. Not a cut, bruise, bump, or single flaw was reflected on his face. Ed sucked in a breath and held it as unidentified music began to play.

"What...?" He tried to speak but his words were lost as Oswald began to sing.

_"A quick goodbye. How do you wipe tears away when your eyes are dry?"_

His voice was soft and close.

_"Sweetheart, lover, could I recover. Give up the joys I have known?"_

Edward felt glued to his spot.

_"Not to fetch your pills again every day at five. How could I survive?"_

Part of him felt the need to run away but he couldn't force himself to.

_"Could I leave you and your shelves of books and the evenings of martyred looks, cryptic sighs, sullen glares from those injured eyes?"_

As Oswald sang, Ed felt like his voice and rhymes were wrapping themselves around him as a snake would it's prey.

_"Leave the lies ill-concealed and the wounds never healed and the games not worth winning And-wait, I'm just beginning!"_

Ed removes his glasses, rubs his eyes, pulls at his hair, begs himself to regain control.

_"What, leave you, leave you?"_

His efforts where all in vein. Oswald's eyes and movements had him captured.

_"Tell me, how could I leave when I left long ago, love?"_

His voice was darker now, Ed felt like he was drowning in his voice.

_"Could I leave you? No, the point is, could you leave me?"_

Oswald's hallucinated self began to twitch and morph, blood dripping down his face then disappearing, his entire show becoming disoriented and messy. Ed was reminded of the drugs; this was all the drugs, this wasn't Oswald, this was just the drugs taking a heavy effect.

Acting quickly as he regained focus, Ed slams his hands onto the desk and wills away Oswald's visionary

 _"ENOUGH!”_ He shouts at the top of his lungs. Finally, Oswald stopped swaying and began walking towards Ed. He felt his heart pounding against his chest.

 _“Why_ do you have to make this so difficult?! I admit that your death has killed a part of me! But I will find a new future without you no matter the cost.” His anger slowly melts away but he keeps the force in his voice.

“You’re the one who left first. And now it’s my turn to leave you behind.” He sharply exhales and feels his arms go limp at his sides.

“Penguin loved you, Ed. He would have given up the world for you.” Oswald’s words puncture Ed’s heart. He couldn’t stand here and take this, he had to get out of here.

“Where were you when he needed you the most!? He needed you! There is no more Penguin because of you, Ed Nygma!”

Edward turned on his heel and dashed out of the room, leaving his hallucination all by himself.

Guilt and remorse ate at his heart as he ran away. If only he could silence the words that came from his blood love. If only they didn’t feel so true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay, so the song at the end is 'Could I leave you' from the Follies musical.  
> Originally I had planned for Ozzie to sing 'Dreaming of you' or 'I could fall in love' by Selena because honestly I just want more people to listen to Selena, buuutt I felt the lyrics were lackluster. 'Could I leave you' isn't perfect either, I moved some lyrics around, but I felt the words were a bit more fitting (as you can see for yourself). 
> 
> If you want some good Nygmobblepot songs I suggest checking out the following  
> -"If I can't love her" Beauty&TheBeast Broadway (Oswald's pov)  
> -"Always hate me" James Blunt (Os pov)  
> -"Evermore" BATB (Os pov)  
> -"Wrecking Ball" Miley Cyrus (Os pov)  
> -"Prayer" Kesha (Ed's pov) 
> 
> I have a whole playlist, that's just the beginning. But I should go start on the next chapter.  
> If you have any songs that you think fit Nygmobblepot/Ed/Os/any other Gotham character/honestly any superhero or villain then leave them in the comments! Or literally just any song you like leave it below! I seriously love listening and discovering music.


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